


Phantom Touch

by venusmercury



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Theatre, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Aristocracy, Bottom Kyan Reki, Disguise, F/M, Gen, Good Boyfriend Hasegawa Langa, Hasegawa Langa In Love, Hasegawa Langa is Bad at Feelings, Heavy Angst, Insecure Kyan Reki, Kyan Reki Needs a Hug, Kyan Reki is a Ray of Sunshine, Kyan Reki-centric, M/M, Oblivious Kyan Reki, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Hasegawa Langa, Proud Kyan Reki, Sad Hasegawa Langa, Secret Crush, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Top Hasegawa Langa, Trauma, reki support group
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venusmercury/pseuds/venusmercury
Summary: When the final curtain falls, the crowd erupts into applause. Wealthy patrons flock to the isles, crowding the parlor of the theatre like sheep. Their voices mix with the stomping of hooves and the drunken glees of the merry men hanging onto the words of the stagehand as the bitter spring air sweeps through the night.Reki carefully undoes his tie carefully, feeling strangled throughout the whole performance. Tonight’s play was a paragon considering how the small troupe has one twisted ankle and a few sore throats. Since rehearsals ran twice as long yesterday, the performers were given this morning off to stay fresh and alert. There was no time to unwind when the stage needed to be set up and the finer details of costumes and makeup had to get done. Reki was in no hurry to confine himself to the small room (his dressing room) to behind unraveling the beautiful job of art that was his character’s makeup.
Relationships: Chinen Miya & Kyan Reki, Hasegawa Langa's Mother/Shindo Ainosuke | Adam, Hasegawa Langa/Kyan Reki, Kyan Reki & Nanjo Kojiro | Joe, Kyan Reki & Sakurayashiki Kaoru | Cherry Blossom, Kyan Reki/Everyone
Comments: 21
Kudos: 49





	1. Act One

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bel Canto](https://archiveofourown.org/works/712295) by [bendingsignpost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bendingsignpost/pseuds/bendingsignpost). 



> Episode Seven inspired me, so I created a very canon divergent (let's hope this still counts as fanfic) story about really diving into the characters. Reki is so beautiful and if you've read my other fanfic, yes, I love the idea of him and his struggles as a character. Langa, I love him, but he hurts me so.  
> Sorry if I don't get all the terminology correct regarding certain terms used in this field. I am gonna try and make this a masterpiece because I love the idea of them being actors in a historical time period for some reason.  
> Anyway, that's really all I had to say and someone pls talk to me about epsiode seven.

__

_“_ _I saw pale kings and princes too,_

_Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;_

_They cried- ‘la Belle Dame sans Merci’_ _”_

~ _John Keats_

**Act One:**

When the final curtain falls, the crowd erupts into applause. Wealthy patrons flock to the  isles ,  crowding the  parlor of the theatre like sheep. Their voices mix with the stomping of hooves and the drunken glees of  the merry men hanging onto the words of the stagehand as the bitter spring air sweeps through the night.

Reki carefully undoes his tie carefully, feeling strangled throughout the whole performance. Tonight’s play was a paragon  considering how the small troupe has one twisted ankle and a few sore throats. Since rehearsals ran twice as long yesterday, the performers were given this morning off to  stay fresh and alert. There was no time to unwind when the stage needed to be set up and the finer details of costumes and makeup had to get done. Reki was in no hurry to confine himself to the small room (his dressing room)  to behind unraveling the beautiful job of art that was his character’s makeup.

With the dapple lighting of the stage on his back, Reki trudges slowly towards the stairs that lead to the cast and crew area. Lost in the surfeit af terglow of a good performance, a strange nuisance bothers his good mood as he observes the shadow of  the lead performer, Miya , being spritzed with attention. The boy has a strange taste for theatrics, being so young, yet so serious. Playing the part of a woman suits him well, though Reki has seen some of h is more  crucial roles where he’s played male leads almost with unnerving accuracy. This agile and lithe build and youthful, young face attracts attenti on wherever he bats those, sly cat eyes. His moods are feline as well going from playful to atrocious in a matter of mere minutes. Reki squeezes past the crowd of women flocking the young boy with their adoration in the form of shrill  shrieks that echo off the  tall ceilings. It’s uncouth to see so many debutantes  acting so undignified, but Reki supposes that is the effect that the Elites have on everyone. 

Reki strays from people, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his head hanging low. His performance tonight was nothing special- he is neither amongst the Elite actors of  _ S  _ Theatre nor is he amongst the common playwrights. He is, in  fact, his own category. Reki once strove to be a top actor, but his first big performance was shattered like glass upon the sidewalk as he auditioned against the fictitious Adam : a legend amongst the Elite actors who had  a part in every play,  story,  or show put on. Reki couldn't describe how it felt to be amongst the stars, yet always fall short of expectations. In truth, he was better at building the sets than  anything. His carpentry was a rivaled skill that was never wasted. His sets were no short of masterpieces even capturing the attention of the young owner of the theater- hence how he even got into this business. Now, he participated in the  plays when an actor was sick or injured. 

A glorified  _ understudy _ was what he was. 

“Reki,” Higa Hiromi calls after him. The  red head turns to find  the florist arms deep with a beautiful arrangement of roses, all a plethora of colors. The scent of water and dirt is strong mixing with the musk of sweat from the heat of the lamps. Shadow,  his stage name, was a man of large girth and great strength. Uncanny in appearance, his smooth, tanned skin and clean shave-head made his persona around  villainy .  However, his part-time job, was as a master florist, studying under a beautiful woman.

“How was it?” He asked hesitantly. 

Reki shrugged, “Like you said, no one knows who I am.” 

He turns to walk away, but Shadow clasps a hand onto his right shoulder. Reki grimaces before pulling away from him . The old injury hasn’t healed yet, but he can feel his heart quicken at the disco mfort . He can’t a fford to panic over old wounds every time they reopen. 

“Look, it would be best if we don’t talk about it,” he  states , trying to co mpose himself, “It happened over a year ago and nothing changes.” The  _ I’m fine  _ comes out  stifled.

Glancing over his shoulder, he knows Shadow can hear the quiver in his voice. He can’t fight the  trauma nor the memories that come with it. Adam had done more than damage his ego, he left a reminder on his body of why he didn’t belong amon gst the rising stars of the Elites. 

_ Of why he didn’t belong here to begin with. _

“Here,” Shadow plucks a white  rose from the bundle before placing it gently into Reki’s wild hair, tucking it under the bandana he wore. Reki looks up at him, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“New beginnings.” Is all the man saying before he turns and disappears into the halls of actors and patrons to finish his  deliveries.

Left alone, Reki turns on his heels to finish his rounds by checking on the rest of the troupe. He  can't help but pull at his collar, irritated  by the incredible heat of  the old place was giving off- between the lights, the stage, and the  masquerade of bodies around him. It’s almost suffocating. 

In the maelstrom that follows the night’s performance, Reki finds it hard to slip away as his names finds its place in the mouths of the most unsavory players who admire from an arm’s length away . Losing himself in the heat and itch of his costume, Reki follows his  feet down the hall, where a door awaits. Behind it is stairs that descend into the catacombs below. Between the wooden wall and the stone pillars, there are older parts of the building that haven’t been touched by human hands in centuries. Reki never truly took the time to pay attention to the architecture  of it all. His mind is only set on one destination as he feet carefully lead him deeper into the darkness. Though his eyesight  his keen, he found himself stumbling over debris as he grabs for the wal l. The catacombs beneath the theatre stretch for miles winding and leading into longer passageways that connect to the underground sewer system of the entire island. 

The air is m ildewed  assaulting his nose . Blind in the dark, Reki makes no effort to fish out the matches in his back pocket. The damp, cold air leaves goosebumps lingering over his body. Tonight, he doesn’t fight the numbness that settles in his chest.  The fear and sadness overtake him, washing over his bones like water over rocks- it breaks him down little by little each day. It is a  consolation to be down here, to escape the upstairs of chattering voices and congested hallways. 

He continues to walk for some time. His footsteps echo all around him, but it is a cautious song they sin g. 

Upon the final turn, a dim light glows ahead, a deliberate warning. The warm light crawls from under neath the door. 

Reki tries the handle, only for it to click open. 

“Snow?” He hisses.

“Reki,” is the only response he gets. The cultured bass rises from the shadows that stop just within reach of the light . Reki  closes the door behind him.

From across the room, he hears a dismissive sigh.

“I suppose there is a reason you risked a visit on a night such as this . ” He questions.

Reki looks up to the owner of the voice as another candle flickers to life. A man sits before a small, heavily polished bla ck piano. It is nothing like the grand piano upstairs in the  parlor donated by the Ainosuke family. It reminds Reki o f a desk, thin, heavily engraved, with curving sides, some raised while another slant. Upon the piano, there are papers and ink scatte red illuminated by a candle and a metronome. The man’s  attire  is distinguished- a classy grey s weater with a white collar sticking out , a tie that is a cool, icy blue , and a mask that nearly covers the entirety of  face. The  mask is a winter blue at the bottom receding into a  snow-white towards the hairline, nearly  hidden beneath straight locks of  frosted blue hair. All Reki can make out is the tip of a delicate nose, thin, flesh-colored lips, and a pointed chin- none of these feature s  could be used identify him .  Long, pale fingers extend as the sound of bones cracking unsettles Reki. The man sits at the piano, his fingers resting upon their designated keys.

“Not tonight,” he shakes his head, feeling a headache coming on, “not tonight.” 

The last part comes out like a plead. 

“Why?” Snow replies. His disposition doesn’t change as a finger teasingly taps a key. Despite the uncommon nickname, Reki can place the accent as a foreig n one. His Japanese is fluent enough to let him know the man’s been formally trained or even has a Japanese parent. He’s curious as to why this foreigner sits in a musty basement of one of the gre atest  theaters on this side of the world. 

“It has been a rough night.” Reki replies automatically. He doesn’t want to linger into details about why he is plagued with anxious thoughts. Instead, he pulls out a stool tucked away  in a corner closest to the door. The room isn’t terribly spacious, but  its length is compensated greatly with width. The piano  serves as one  table set while a small wooden one serves for the basic of necessities.  Reki kn ows Snow is a notorious eater, unlike himself, who struggles to eat on nights like this. 

“From the crowd, I would say that tonight was a success.” Snow  d ecla res  adamantly with a  w a rm smile. His eyes glisten against the candlelight, almost glowing . It is rather hypnotic. Staring into them, Reki  tremble d , as his face heat ed up. Turning his attention back to his fumbling hands, he picks at a piece of loose thread on his vest.

“Yes, it was quite the show.” He agrees. 

Snow  runs a hand through his hair , seemingly understanding that their conversation is getting nowhere fast. It is not a rare sight for the masked man. He is the only one who has  seemed Reki this way- the only one he allows to seem him so broken. A stranger who cannot judge him for his past misdeeds; a stranger who does not know him. There is a  companionship that grew from this peculiar arrangement allowing both parties to feel at ease never mi xing their business and personal lives . Reki cherishes it so because it is a bittersweet revelation to be able to breath for once. 

“If you hate it so much, why do you stay?” 

Reki chuckles wryly. He doesn't hate it. In fact, he is  infatuated with acting. The  enthusiasm , the drama, the idea of becoming something else entirely, and the concept of escaping reality is  appealing . Reki used to passionat ely long to be on stage, just for a moment. Some days he does. Those days are rare and few in between. He rubs his calloused hands together feeling the rough skin  peel away.

“ It pays well.” A  debased answer.

One that earns him a grunt. Reki doesn’t need to look up to know Snow has turned away in grudging refusal to continue this sad  excuse for conversation. Instead, they sit in silence. It is scary how quiet the man could be. Reki fears this silence as it is usual dubbed with judgment. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but his words fall on deaf ears as the piano begins to fill the void. Reki can see the visible gap  in-between them. It burns the back of his throat as voices rises with the  vicious strike of a deeper note. He bawls his hands into  fists  pressin g then in to his thighs, hunching over in physical pain . A pain that radiates through his right shoulder down to the wrist. 

The room disappears with the music as it grows grand and frightening. It reminds him of Adam: the masked  wraith of the great  _ S  _ theatre. Th ere is a subtle shift in the tone as it grows louder against the vaulted ceiling  almost drowning him in its invisible presence. Heart abruptly pounding in his ear, Reki can’t find the courage to interrupt Snow. He braces himself for the fall. He’s seen it all before.  Fingers smack the keys like a body hitting against the cold tile, leaving him shaking. Reki dares to open his eyes as he watches the man get lost in a  story, he doesn’t know he  is telling . Loose ly rolled up sleeves  descend porcelain skin settling near his forearm, leaving it bare and veins popping. 

When Snow ceases playing, the sound the keys disperse like a snap of the fingers. He looks up at Reki with  exasperation .

“Well?” He inquires.

“It is scary,” Reki responds, “The accuracy of how you  portray emotions in music is ...genius.”

“Scary?”

Reki nods,  “It is the imagery and how you provoke or tease the person into expressing themselves. It is...”  _ flawless _ . Reki pauses in thought. 

“It is what?”

“It feels a bit cold.” He insists.

“Cold? How does one express sorrow without it feeling a bit detached?”

Reki laughs at this truth, “I suppose we all try to run away from it, but not all sadness is so strong and powerful. It can be mellow and grandeur at times. It slowly drawls ou t the worst of us at best and leaves you hallow. Sadness can be burning hot that it leaves your body reeling.”

Snow hums, light and airy, “Ah I see.”

He strikes the keys again, but this time with less vigor. Reki mistakes the initial intention as to edit what he  previously played, but this is different. The piece is  inherently its own story. The tempo is hurried and staggered.  The key is shifted a bit  higher, and the  sadness becomes numbing. Reki feels his chest cave in as  the music begins to sharpen rather than flatten. It is so precise to how he feels, it is as if Snow is  in-tune with his emotions. He wonders what fueled the musician’s own emotions. Why was their such a strong  negative connotation within the tragedy? Before Reki can even speak up, the music falls short of a note, ending.

“ Su ff ering .” He rises to his feet. This guessing game of musical melodies was something that struck them both with glee at times, but in the end, it was something that Reki latched onto as therapy.  It never bothered him as much as it did today. Snow was clearly perception of others, at times, though his obliviousness in social settings never lacked on a musical end.

“ Suffer i ng ? What kin d, Reki?”

“Loss or...” he hesitates  to feel his mouth dry out, “failure.”

Snow’s lips thin out and his expression hardens. He taps his chin thoughtfully. 

“Why?”

“Is this really useful to your research?” He counters. 

“Yes, it is. Between the two of us, I have experienced no greater loss than you have.” He says earnestly. 

“It sounds like you know more about loss than I  do .” By the sound of his music, it would seem his life is drenched in it. 

“To compare two losses is a loss. A mute argument for pain cannot be countered by more pain. No two sufferings are alike.” A gross  explanation . 

“I don’t see how I can help. The play is based off a  poem, right?”

Snow nods, “It is one of tragedy. The loss of unrequited love. It is denial and self-doubt, but it is pure and true.”

He gestures with his hand to Reki’s head. 

“You have an admirer.” The  statement  has an inqui sitive tone. 

Reki shakes his head  rapidly , trying to deny the accusation when the rose slips from its beari ngs. Snow  instantly leans forward to snatch it from its graceful descent.  The mask doesn’t move with the downward motion, sitting perfectly perched upon his face. It is much more expensive and better made than the ones they used upstairs.  There are jewels, Reki realizes, engraved into the cheek bone area of the mask. It is truly a beautiful piece of work. Something that is gifted to Elite actors by Adam. Reki ignores that thought, burying it away in the back of his head. This kind and gentle soul was nothing like  him (or so he hoped).

Snow  caresses the rose carefully as  if examining it . He brings to his nose to smell it. 

“White roses are expensive.” 

“A friend of mine works with flowers so he placed it there as a sign of new beginnings.” Reki  clarifies rubbing the back of his neck . He doesn’t know why he feels  so  nervous about this, but the thought that Snow could get the wrong idea, causes him to frown.

“Ah yes, it does symbolize that. It also symbolizes in tegrity and purity.”  Snow rises from his seat. Being a few inches taller, he reaches Reki in two steps, before hovering over him. The concept of personal space is a myth between them, having sat next to each other to discuss many topics regarding playwrights in the past. Long fingers  gently tuck the rose carefully back in its place as they fall over his cheeks \- barely touching the flesh.  Looking up at him from this angle, Reki gulps feeling self-conscious. He reminds himself that the man before him is not Adam. The mask is , however, daunting . It still  unsettles him even after spending so much time in this man’s presence. 

“I’ll help you.” He promises. 

Snow’s lips curl upward into a  grin as his hands come to rest on his shoulders , squeezing them .

“Just not tonight,” he adds, “I, uh, have to go soon to help clean up and break down the set.”

“When will you return?”

“Probably tomorrow. I can’t say for sure because we have a new script and set to build.” He shrugs. 

Snow doesn’t  say anything as his hands fall from Reki’s shoulders. The ir cold presence leaves him feeling all too warm in his skin. The phantom touch of them  leaves him yearning for something... though he does not  coax himself to think of what it could be . 

“I shall wait for your return,” Snow speaks up, already sitting at the piano, “Goodnight Reki.”

“Yes, uh, goodnight.” 

Reki gathers his few items and leaves with a slight pep in his step. Music follows him into the night,  duetting the echo of his footsteps as he makes his way back to the stairs leading to the  upstairs again , where voices drown out the calming melody of a wo rld left behind. 

_____________________________________________________________________

Few words are shared between them as Reki circles all the parts he must memorize before the end of the week. Snow is a gargoyle hunched over his piano, staring smitten at the sheet music, frantically writing.  They stay like this for hours, seem inly frozen in time, painted a canvas and left to collect dust. It is enough to drive Reki into madness as the words before him dance from one ear and out the next. 

He drops the script in  despair , rubbing his eyes tiredly. A sour mood falls over the room leaving him restless for release.

“You’re barely through the first act and you’re giving up already?”

It is not a petulant comment, yet Reki lashes out with scornful anger in his own frustration. He usually isn’t so short-tempered, but this is the third time he’s been  reprimanded abou t his lack of  speed when it came to memorizing. It is frustrating to be around so many people at once who easily pick up what he cannot. Reki tries, but he cannot succeed to the heights of others. 

At this rate, he is stuck where he is. That part of him accepts the truth, while the other feels utterly defeated by it. Snow begins to play omitting the part where Reki apologizes for his rashness.  Instead, the music seems to clear up any misgivings between them. Snow makes Reki describe his feelings, which Reki begrudging speaks  as music accompanies him. 

Reki tells him about the first time he acted. How it felt to lose his first friend to an accident and how the boy never was able to do anything again. Snow simply soaks it all in as he  writes. There is nothing significant about the stories Reki tells. He believes he’s had a good life; he has a good family, and he has friends. So, why does this man take interest in the parts of him he  suppresses ? It is  irritating to  be dissected. 

When Reki falls short of words, Snow makes up for it in composition. 

They take turns listening to each other. A transactional conversation that has no true value, yet is worth more than any currency. Snow stumbles into  his melodies, yet quickly rises into form as he skates through the first few notes. Reki doesn’t even say anything as the man kicks off into the second composition with hard strides, breath-taking forms, and  unheard notes seemingly strangling each other. It is wild, chaotic, and frantic. Nothing is set and stone. It is always  improving . Reki cannot anticipate the sudden  alteration in the music, but he watches proudly at how the story unfolds.  The voiceless  mourning that perches itself upon the tones drags itself along like a wounded soldier in battle. It is a piece that feels surreal. 

There is no  verdict and there is no  introduction . It is as if it is infinite in theme striking anew. The  vigor never varies as the  tempo  fluctuates . Reki watches those fingers intently,  neglecting to notice how blue eyes rest upon his silent figure watching him.  It would be impossible to describe the emotions Reki feels as he  relinquishes himself  to the music. The sway of his body rocks in beat with each chord struck. Feet and legs shuffle underneath the piano keeping time , though the upper body remains  rigid . Reki wonders how much training Snow did to become so steady. 

A note is re iterated .

A tempo  deviated . 

A refrain red id . 

It is upon the eighth time hearing it that Reki jumps up with  fervor .

“This,” he smiles, “this is it.”

His breathlessness is met with knuckles cracking. 

“This is how you felt,” Snow supplies.

“Yes, almost entirely.”

“ _ Not good enough. _ ”

“I can’t think of it being any better than this.”

“It can be.” Snow smiles, his enthusiasm leaking through the mask, “Music is all about provoking the listener. I want you withering on your knees.”

Heart  battering and face  flushed , Reki sinks deeper into his chair. His legs feel heavy as if he just finished running. Snow picks  up a pen before scribbling something down. Bold of him to do anything without a pencil first. 

“I shall have to rework something things within the measures. I assume you don’t mind if I pry a bit more.”

Reki shrugs, “If you think it helps.” His voice sounds  strained and high-pitched. Clearing his throat, he tries not to dwell on that earlier  remark . 

“You shall see.” Snow says over his shoulder as he continues to write. 

“How much longer will it take?”

His response is answered by the sound of pen brushing paper. 

Reki doesn’t wait for any further reply as he stands up to stretch. Picking up the discarded script, he shakes off his drowsiness and turns toward the door.

“I’ll see you later.” He states before leaving.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Sometime later, Miya yanks at Reki’s tie forcing the man to bend down to the shorter boy’s level. A n effective and  harsh gesture that he should expect from his young friend by now.

“What are you,” he wheezes as the collar  strangles him.

“He’s calling for you.” Miya rolls his eyes as he lets go. 

“He?” Reki rubs his neck, trying to fix his crooked tie.

“He," he repeats annoyed. Reki smacks his hand against his forehead as it dawns on him.

“Right now?”

Miya looks at him and nods, “You have time before the next rehearsal. No one will notice and I’ll cover for you if they do. Say I sent you on an errand.” He smirks.

“I am not your errand boy.” Reki plucks his nose. Miya yelps , shrinking back as he grabs his face.

Something similar to a smile pulls at his face which he covers before composing himself. 

“Just go to him. I hate when he asks me for things,” Miya shivers, “it’s so gross downstairs.”

Reki snorts, “It is a very unrealistic set-up. By the way, can I ask you something?”

“Depends on what it is.” He says resting a hand on his hip.

“How long has he been down there? I know the rumors about the phantom of  _ S _ , but surely it isn’t because of him.”

Miya pales a bit, “Such a dumb question. There is no ghost or anything here except if you count Adam, the only phantom striking terror into people’s  hearts . Anyway,” he  adds , “he’s been down there for  a while . I supposed it helps him deal with things.”

Reki wants to ask what things, but he knows it would be rude to go behind Snow’s back. After all, the man didn’t seem like the type to talk behind your back. He feels  a bit misled though considering Miya seems to know more than he lets on. 

“So, exactly what is he doing here?”

“Reki, for as long as I’ve been acting, I have learned its best not to pry in the affairs of others. Even you can understand wanting to escape the  actualities of a harsh world. ”

He doesn’t speak any more about the rumors of the phantom or about Snow. Instead, he nods accepting the answer and asks about the script.

The air is  arid and  thick leaving a bad taste  on his tongue. Reki licks his dry lips as he loses himself in the harsh  fruition of Snow’ s composition. This session differs from the last as Reki is only half listening. Questions plague his thoughts. He wants to learn more about the man behind the mask , yet he can’t bear the thought of their situation-ship shifting into something unknown. 

“Do you write it all down?”

“No,” Snow replies automatically. He’s distracted, shifting from key to pen. “I can see the notes I want to play and then I play them.”

“And you make all of it up?”

“Yes.”

Reki flips through his scrip restlessly. He’s already lost his place and his head makes no room to fill it up with more meaningless words. He curses the actor who caught a spring cold, wishing he could opt out of doing this character. The lines are difficult and technical- it is enough to make his eyes water from concentrating  too hard.

Light humming  escorts his thoughts as  Snow  contests with himself wordlessly. It is the internal back and forth of it that is truly  alarming . Reki can’t imagine what he is  imagining . The man pauses, plays, rep eats, grunts, and does it again. It seems like  lunacy to any normal human- maybe that’s why Reki can see him being otherworldly. The silent song that grows around them isn’t even vocalized, yet the melody becomes but a simple harmony amongst other things. In the  grand scheme of it all, his fluid  gestures become more prominent as his  handwriting grows sloppy. Head cocked and left -hand raises as if twitching , Reki realizes he’s listening . Whatever he hears, it’s intense and section by section, the piece sharpens up.

Reki begins to gather his belongings  concluding that  Snow shows no sign of letting up. It is until he reaches the door that he hears, 

“Stop,” Snow comes up from behind him frantically shutting the door. Reki turns to find himself pinned as Snow looks down at him with a n intense expression. His brows  furrowed and  lips pursed , he leans  down.

“I need you, stay.”

Words without  significance , yet Reki swallows hard . His face  burns as he  shoves his hands against the other man’s chest . Snow doesn’t fight against him .  Snow makes no effort to get any closer but instead goes back to his piano. Reki finally gathers himself, glancing at the small clock on the wall.

“I will have to leave within the hour.”

Snow nods, mumbling something of a _ ‘you got time’ _ under his breath without looking away from his work. 

Reki leans against the wall beside the piano and sinks to the floor. He unfolds his script, though he takes more interest in the room than the words. There is a small bed in the corner  with no blankets. The rest of the furniture is sparse and clumped into the center of the room. Without anything to do, Reki  begins to run his  lines.

“Reki,”

“Yeah?”

“You should get going.”

Reki doesn’t even look at the clock. He drags himself up from the floor and nods a farewell before rushing to the door.

“It will be a few days.” Snow calls after him.

Reki straightens out and looks over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“I’m not here every day next week. I’ve got order outside the theatre to fill.”

“So then return Monday.” Snow stares up at him as his body goes stock still.

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be here, so I’ll let you know.”

“Right,” Snow agrees, blatantly  overlooking his departure. 

Reki folds and tells him Monday is fine.

_______________________________________________________________

Monday is no different from last week as Reki reels over the upcoming  performance . It is not like him to feel his  disconcert . Amongst other things, Snow shows no sig n of letting up. In fact, he had just informed Reki not to come for a while. Sitting in the stool this time, Reki plays musical chairs every time he comes here. E ach time his visit  decreases in frequency.  He wondered when the day would come when the visits would cease; if one day, he  ventured down  here, and  the room was empty as if Snow had always been a phantom of his imagination. Each visit, Snow dug deeper in psyche. The stories Reki conjured up were from his time as  an apprentice to high society. A carpenter is a good field- a steadier field than acting. He recites tales of falling in and out of the empty beds searching for  passion again. He leaves out Adam entirely. It is the one piece of him that no one should be able to  reach . Instead, he focuses on how he  perceives the  topics Snow throws at him. He speaks of first love,  belief , and life as if he i sn’t still young and seeking the thirst  for adventure. 

Light and heavy, Reki  struggles with  his own emotions as he forces the worst of himself out to speak about what it’s like suffering  from certain ailments. He never speaks about it personally, always choosing to d isconnect from it as if he’s over it. As if he is cured. No matter  how focused Snow seems, his eyes always find Reki’s at the worst of times. When he is  gasping for air and the other man has to remind him to breathe again. 

“I will begin the wrapping up the first act,” Snow reminds Reki as the red head stretches , “well, hopefully, if I can  formulate my thoughts.”

“That’s good news.”

“Do you speak English?”

They both speak at the same time. 

Reki shakes his head. Snow sighs.

“You mentioned trying to learn. What happened?”

“I don’t know.” Reki lies between clenched teeth.

With  the blunt acquittal, he changes the topic, “Are you from England?”

“No, but I can speak French and English as well.”

Reki nods.

“I won’t be available the rest of the week.”

“Ok.”

“Do not come down here.”

“Ok.”

Snow grunts, unsatisfied with the lack of luster from Reki who shrugs it off. With nothing else left to say, Reki makes his leave .

“Reki,” Snow calls, “I will play it for you. So, don’t forget.”

“I won’t.” He smi rks to himself.

__________________________________________

It's  difficult at first. 

The first day or so Reki is fine, but come the second day, the urge to escape is strong. His feet find themselves walking towards the basement with mock glee before he realizes  it's not uses. Mid-motion, he turns on his heels and heads back to the stage to continue overseeing construction. The place as many settings, all with their own unique look.  Contriving such a set takes time- time he is rarely allotted. Hammer in hand, he begins pounding the nails into wood getting lost in  the work. The sound of tools is almost jarring as he imagines if this is what Snow feels like when  he plays. 

Just as his stir craziness is about to hit rock bottom, the voices arise like a chorus through the theatre.

It is a welcomed distraction as Reki goes about his day. The troupe doesn’t take notice of him much except to ask for favors or repairs which he gladly does. Upon fixing another leaking pipe, he hears the floodgates of gossip open. 

The heir of the theatre, Shindo Ainosuke, would be visiting. 

Reki doesn’t think too much about this, but apparently, it’s a bigger deal than he realized. 

“He owns the opera house.” Shadow informs him as they run lines together, “Though he rarely visits. It was more of his  aunts' hobbies than his I suppose. ”

“He only comes twice a year, but t his time I hear he’s taken up a prodigy or something. A young, new actor who was scouted by Adam.” Miya frowns.

To Reki’s understanding, the heir also scouted Miya as well. It seems he had a real  mastery for picking up young talents and c ultivating notables . 

“No one knows the full details except for Cherry Blossom or Joe.” Shadow supplies. Reki remembers hearing those names. The other two senior Elites that acted alongside Adam for years. It was rare for eith er of them to show up to perform as they were in high demand at more popular venues. 

“I’m curious to see the aristocrat that he’s chosen this time.” Miya states with a  glint in his eyes. 

A n outcry interrupt s their banter as one of the actresses rushes from behind  the  stage, crying hysterically as one of the stagehands runs after her. Reki jumps up to his feet, rushing over to the commotion.

“I swear we’re  _ cursed _ !” She screams in between coughs, “I swear it wasn’t my fault.” The stagehand looks over at  R eki pleadingly for h elp.  As Reki mumbles calming words to her, he hears someone from behind him speak up.

“This keeps happening. Maybe we really are cursed.”

Superstitions begin to fly as the actors and actresses whisper amongst themselves. Reki excuses himself from it all, trying to avoid being dragging into it any further . With the heir of the theatre on his way and a new actor insight, Reki knows everything must go perfectly tonight, not only for the troup e’s sake, but for the theatre’s sake as well. One of the directors informs him last minute that the actor casted would be taking over, freeing Reki of responsibility to play his part. It is a relief, yet he feels his stomach sink in dis may .  He had worked so hard towards that part that it almost seemed unfair to snatch it away from him. Losing what little  appetite he has left, Reki fades into the background of stage crew, helping with last minute set up where he can . If a floorboard comes loose or a chair leg breaks, it will happen tonight. Trying to fight the superstitious atmosphere, Reki can only hope  everything goes smoothly.

_________________________________________________________________

Hope, unfortunately, is not enough to keep the night running smoothly . 

Reki gl istened with sweat,  is summoned by an usher thirty minutes before patrons are due to arrive to help with seating arrangements.

“It’s center box, the  heirs . Yuko called out again.”

“I assume it’s a phantom mystery as to why.” He jokes. The usher  chuckles weakly before handing him the slip card with some notes on it. 

Cleaning up before going to take over the new duty,  Reki sits in the bath for longer than expecte d before scattering to throw on his best clothes. His hair fights with him, but he  forces it with many  bobby pin s i t into a neat bun. 

Reki glances down at the slip of paper he was given. It is hardly uncommon for a stagehand to be called to usher especially on nights when their short-staffed.  Reki  makes his way to Box 13 as he will be assisting the heir with whatever menial tasks that need to be done. Pulling at his collar, he nearly trips up that stair leading to the balcony.

Upon his arrival, he finds the curtains already drawn and takes note of the arguing voices. Light leaks from two candles centered on each side of the wall . It is enough to see that there is a woman lying on the ground. Her pale legs are graciously concealed above the  knees by a bea utiful obsidian  kimono with a pink flowered design on it. Reki bows slightly, nodding to the burly man supporting the woman’s head . Amongst them are three other figures, none he can identify as the heir  or the prodigy. In the year and a half, he’s been working here, he has met the heir once, but the face evades him.  Reki does . He must remind himself of his manners, regarding these men with courtesy. So, it comes to his shock when the woman sits up, wincing at the sudden motion. Her pale pink hair falls from her face revealing elegant features belonging to a man.

“Sir,” he greets awkwardly , c onfident that the man before him is Cherry Blossom (Sakurayashiki Kauro). He pushes his glasses further up his nose, snatching his arm away fro m the other m an .

“ Nanjo , you gorilla,” h e snarls , “Making a big fuss over nothing.”

The man, Joe (Nanjo Kojiro) , rolls his eyes in a childish manner. Instead, he smiles over at Reki pushing back his green bangs. 

“Think you can get him some water?”   
A hand flies out to hit his face, but Joe catches it almost instinctively, placing a light kiss on the palm getting a rise out of the other man.

“I don’t need any water. It’s just the heat.” He murmurs as Joe helps him to his feet.  Cherry’s face is damp and flushed with either embarrassment or tiredness. 

“I just got dizzy.”

Joe shakes his head before he begins to reprimand Cherry about something and the couple quarrels.  Reki can’t h elp but stifle a laugh at their bantering. Standing up, he bows at the group , dismissing himself . He moves towards the curtain to leave them be when a hand claps his shoulder. Reki turns slightly to find a handsome stranger looking down at him with a warm expression.

“Thank you for your assistance.” He bows his head. His  Japanese is almost flawless, if not a bit too formal. An older gentleman steps forward wrapping a  possessive arm around his waist and  leans into his body. Both wear matching dark blue suits that bring out the paleness of their skin. Dark, tall, and mysterious is the vibe they give off.

“Ah, I think I remember you,” the older gentleman  taps a finger to his chin, “Yes, I believe it was over a year ago. You were the actor that was hospitalized. A  wash-up, right? Remind me, what was your name again ? ” The sly  platitud e is nothing innocuous. Reki bites his lip, averting his gaze. 

“Reki Kyan.”

“Reki Kyan, the name doesn’t ring a bell, but you’re that silly little carpenter who hangs around the actors, hm?”

“Don’t tease the boy!” Cherry scolds him fro m somewhere in the room. 

“He is familiar though.” Joe speaks up, “He’s the one that went up against Adam. I remember now...” Joe grunts, cut ting his sentence short. 

Reki can feel the room closing in on him as the ru mors fly over his head. He can hear the shouts and laughs. His throat burns as his knees begin to shake as if they might buckle under his weight. 

“Mr. Ainosuke,” the younger man whispers \- he leans in to  peck the older man’s  cheek. Reki can almost make out the pity in his eyes as they look down on him.  Bawling his hands into fist, Reki bow one last time before slipping back out through the curtains. His heart is skipping beats as he clutches his chest tightly. This pain is almost unbearable as he stumbles down the hall, trying to put  distance between him and the viewing room. He is thankful for the cover of darkness and the emptiness of the second story. Here, his body falls into one of the pillars as he tries to fight back the tears.

He leans his head back resting it against the marble pillar staring at the eloquent ceiling that is muralled in classical western ar t. He sits there listening to the pit as they begin to play starting with the first strings. It is a harrowing and dark sound as the violin strikes up a cord. Reki feels his  eyelids grow heavy as the music  transform his surroundings. 

A masked figure hovers inches from his face leaning in. Large hands caress the sides of his head as his nose  touches Reki. Through partially open eyelids, he sees th e blurred figure take shape in the form of Adam . Reki freezes, unable to move as the man moves next to him  so that his lips brush against Reki’s ear.

_ You were never enough. _

A hand wraps around his throat as Reki feels his airway closes. He gasps for air, eyes wide, and body shaking as warm hands strangle him. On the verge of death, he see s the glint  of something inhumane in the dark orbs of the mask where the eyes are hidden. The smile only grows  Reki slowly stops struggling. Everything fades into the background until all he can make out is red. 

A scream pierces the  air. 

Reki doesn’t recognize it as his own as he blinks. His throat is  sore, and his hands digs into the skin of neck tighter. Startled,  he releases himself rubbing the area with tensive care. 

Another scream erupts, this time joined by a chorus of voices. Leaning against the pillar for support, he stands up before slowly making his way towards the  noise . Stumbling into one of the open balconies, Reki makes it just in time to see the outline of a figure as the body  falls three stories high, hanging from the theatre chandelier.


	2. Act Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before he could process what was happening, his feet hit the stairs, jumping them two at a time. Reki harsh breaths were drowned out by the increasing volume of turmoil coming from below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, this is taking longer to write than I thought. I'm breaking up the chapters so they won't be so excessively long, but hopefully, you enjoy them. I am still reeling over the confession (yes, I'm claiming its a confession) that Langa did in episode 8 so I wanted to add a bit of that into this story.  
> Anyway, this anime is my obsession (p.s. Joe and Cherry are an item because they are perfect for each other).

**Act Two:**

Before  he could process what was happening, his feet hit the stairs, jumping them two at a time. Reki harsh breaths were drowned out by the  increasing volume of  turmoil coming from below . Rounding the cor ner, Reki maneuvers his way through the manic crowd as they rush into the parlor. E scorts direct patrons, attempting and failing to keep order. Someone’s elbow meets his ribcage with force knocking the little air he had left out of his lungs. Falling to the ground, feet  kick into him with feigning ignorance as people scatter like cockroaches outside . By chance, he spots an older gentleman no more than a few feet away, lying still with his gaze directed on him. Reki can feel his stomach turn upon re cognizing that man was trampled to death.  The revelation enables Reki  to fight to get on his  feet as people continue to  fight to get out . Eating away at the rest of his adrenaline , he heads towards the main entrance into the theatre . Pushing through the tidal wave of bodies, the aisles  are nothing sort of a sea of  terror . Backtracking towards the door, Reki gathers himself before heading towards the second entrance where the pit orchestra plays .  Struggling to stay afloat, he  swims through until fur coats and sh oving hands which disperse  the  closer, he gets to the cause of all this panic.

The body hangs idly in all its glory . It is a n aggrieved sight  to behold causing Reki to stare at the corpse of a  man .

H is dress shirt clings to h is body in a way that could be mistaken for the skin. H is neck is at an odd angle as h is head leans back slightly making it hard to identify who it is in the  dim, theatre lighting . He  was surprised that the man’s body stayed intact so neatly after the fall. Unsettled by the incident, he steps closer, reaching a  handout to touch her when someone stops him. The cold hand  is neither rough nor tight as it latches to his wrist to dissuade him from going any further.

“ Best not to tamper with evidence.” 

Reki looks up to find  Ainosuke’s (lover?) standing there. This time, however , he is alone , and no sh eepish smile lights up his face. In the  dappled glints of the theatre lighting , the man looks much younger than  Reki  initially thoug ht . His hair  is parted in the middle falling neatly around his angular head. His nose is sharp and his eyes fierce and cold. Originally, they looked quite transparent, but  it seems they are a lovely periwinkle matching his winter hair. Reki  wiggles under the man’s touch prompting  him to  let go.  There is something familiar about him that  bothered Reki, but he couldn’t quite place why.

“Reki!”

Miya runs up to him, wrapping his thin arms around Reki’s waist.  Teary-eyed, the boy look s unnaturally young and  scared . Reki  holds onto him right  as the boy  sobs .  In the background, the  howls of alarm and horror seem to fade  as the tide washes over them realizing what has happened. 

“The police will be here soon.” The man states. Reki nods, his attention back on  the  body . 

_ “Rek _ _ i _ _ , why don’t you ever visit me anymore?”  _ _ He  _ _ pouts looking up at the  _ _ red head _ _ with big, doe eyes. _

_ Reki _ __ _ laughs fondly, removing h _ _ is _ _ fur coat and hanging in on the back of  _ _ the _ _ dressing room. _ __ _ Delicate _ _ arms fall  _ _ over his shoulders as _ __ _ ivory _ _ hands caress  _ _ his chest teasingly. _

_ “It’s no fun if I have to come find you, l _ _ a belle dame sans merci.”  _ _ He _ _ whispers in _ _ to the red-head’s _ _ ear.  _

_ “What does that mean?”  _ _ Reki _ _ cocks his head to the side allowing himself to _ _ let go just for a moment.  _

_ “ _ _ The beautiful lady without pity.” _

_ “Ah, it’s not polite to talk about yourself, ”  _ _ he hisses as  _ _ the man _ _ nips at his neck. _

_ “It ends  _ _ tragically, Ya know. A knight falling in love with a  _ _ fairy _ __ _ becomes consumed by this love and withers away.” _

_ Reki listens attentively as his friend speaks. The words that pass between them digress into animalistic sounds as they  _ _ devour each other. Later that night, Reki will wonder why his friend recited the poem to him as they lay side by side  _ _ absorbing _ _ the body heat neither of them has enough to produce on their own. He’ll wonder  _ _ what it means to be so ravishingly in love that it ruins you.  _

_ “La Bella dame sans merci.” _

“Yumiko!”  Saki , the stage manager, yells from somewhere  behind the curtain . Reki’s voice is strange to his ears as he commands,

“Get him down!”

Pushing Miya off to one of the dancers, Reki helps lower down the  body from the large chandelier , as the troupe doctor pulls at the noose. Saki  steps over Reki  to cut it .

Yumiko didn’t even have a chance. Even if he regretted the decision, the angle of the knot was too tight for him t o get even a chance that his neck wouldn’t break. From the drop to the bungee-like effect, this was no normal suicide. Yumiko. Dead. 

It’s an abstruse  realization that leaves strikes him vehemently.  The man who  made him feel . Dead. 

_ La belle dame sans merci _ _. _

He can still taste the stale whiskey and old cigarettes on his tongue as rough lips lower themselves on his shoulder. Yumiko always kissed the scar as his  way of  telling  Reki, it’ll get better. Reki rubs the shoulder absent-mindedly trying to keep it together. 

“He wouldn’t have  hung himself.” Saki runs a hand through his thick curls, sounding distressed.

“Hung.” Someone corrects. 

“Enough!” Reki lashes out as he grits his teeth. First  curling and uncurling, he looks over his shoulder to find the man still standing here. 

“ He was hung. That is the correct term. Past tense.” He states , “however, I don’t believe the carpenter agrees with you.”

The troupe doctor looks Reki up and down before summoning him closer.

“You knew him pretty well , am I right?”

Reki nods before asking, “Was anyone near him before or during the show?” He glances up at the balconies realizing there is a thin crawl space strip to fix the lighting.

“Find out for me, Saki.”

“Don’t worry, I intend to.” He replies.

Reki claps him on the back.  He moves away from the body as the doctor inspects it more. The stench of  piss and  crap is nauseating at best, not to mention seeing his friend so distorted is  overwhelming. 

A rattling sound disrupt s his thoughts as one of the singers,  Ms. Lia comes forward pushing a wheeled table. 

“I've brought a sheet as well,” she tells the doctor .

She quickly lays it down before the doctor begins to roll the body up carefully. It is a respectable thing to do that  shows how much he will be missed. The doctor  is not a religious man, but he does allow someone to begin a prayer.  With Reki’s and a few other hands' help, they place the body on the table. Standing around it, the few people allow the prayer to fill the silence.  Reki turns to the man who has yet to stray far from his side. 

“I don’t think we ever got to properly meet.” The man  speaks to him lowly as the crowd disperses, everyone assigned to a task. Reki stays with the body out of obligation. Even though the doctor is here, Yum i ko was his friend ,  after-all .

“Langa Hasegawa.” He extends a hand. 

Reki  looks at the man up and down before turning away.  He is in no mood to deal with anyone at this point especially a lackey belonging to Adam’s clique. 

“I suppose we got off on the wrong foot ,” he  murmurs, “Mr. K yan, I apologize for  earlier ,”

“Please ,” Reki holds up a hand to stop him from further  speaking, “please, just have some decency and leave. Whatever you want or have to say I don’t want to hear it .”

Langa straightens up a bit, accosted at this point.

“ Of course, I  apologize. Again. For your loss . I, too, have suffered through such and I assure you, take as much time as you need.”

Reki scoffs before turning to fully face him feeling no fear or shame only anger.

“Mr. Hasegawa, was it?  You have nothing to be guilty of. If you think your half-ass apology makes up for everything I’m going through, then you might as well have said nothing if you came all this way to tell me that. You have nothing to apologize for, so leave!”  He spits as hot tears begin to streak his face. 

Reki chokes on a sob turning away from the visible line of sight as he bites down . 

“Mr.Kyan?” Hasegawa ’s voice croaks with concern. A  hand rests heavily on his right arm triggering Reki to pull away in  umbrage.

Reki  closes his eyes ,  feeling  closed in  and runs. He runs towards the side entry of the theatre and keeps running until he hits the metal door at the end of the long hallway leading into the alley. Reki runs into the streets. He runs until his whole body is heavy and damp with sweat. He runs until his tears dry and his throat is on fire. He runs until he can’t  breathe anymore. He runs. 

He runs faster.

He runs further.

He keeps running until his feet give from under him and the concrete catches him.

He  falls to the ground feeling numb, sore, and broken. 

He closes his eyes,  listening to Yum i ko whisper in his ear of a  tragic love story between a knight and a fairy.

____________________________________________________

He wants to laugh at how cruel fate can be. How twisted life gets when one becomes a component. How jaded he’s become  since the impediment . Reki doesn’t speak for several days  growing  quiescent. Moving stiffly, Reki immediately gets to work  in an  endeavor to fo restall talking to anyone.

The  gossip being pumping from the rumor powerhouse is in full swing making his temper shorter and his  pain heavier. Each  tale spun is worthy of its  drama. One speaks of suicide due to debts. Another  directs its attention to the theatre’s phantom.  Seeing the phantom drove him to death  or the  apparition killed him.

Reki can’t help but to laugh at how sickening this all is. A small part of him can’t help  feeling relieved that he’s not the topic of gossip.  Even more reason why he  finds himself hating that thought:  castigating himself for thinking it. 

For the first few days, avoiding people is easy, that is until he remembers that he isn’t alone  entirely .

Miya pounces on him like a cat on a mouse on the fifth day during afternoon rehearsals .

“What happened to you?” He gasps upon seeing the bruises on his neck and his split lip. 

Reki forces a weak smile. Rubbing the back of his neck , he  can’t honestly tell the boy what really happen. Instead, he makes up a half truth about the riot of people and getting caught underfoot (literally). 

“What will happen to Snow?” Reki asks,  interested . 

“Why would anything happen \- You can’t  seriously believe he did this!” The boy’s raised voice raises heads . 

Reki ’s face contorts between a grimace and an uneasy smi le as he tries to t hwart attention of of them.

“You misunderstand me. He could get hurt if he’s seen. They’ll mistake him for an actual ghost.”

Miya’s expression softens almost instantly. 

“He’ll be fine, but if you’re so worried about it, I’ll check up on him.” The boy  assures , toying with his new prop- a pair of black cat ears. Reki stands up, ruffling his head.

“ I really appreciate you.”

Miya looks up at him with wide eyes and flushed cheeks.

“You’re so embarrassing.” He growls, turning on his heels and walking away. 

_________________________________________________________________

As the week prolongs, Miya doesn’t seek ou t Reki unless it’s to remind him to eat or go home. Reki can accept that he won’t be summoned to the basement for  a while . Honestly, he doesn’t have the time to spare. With the death confirmed to be suicide and h is mind racing, Reki puts all his energy into set designs and building. They’re already behind and down an electrician. Yumiko would usually be hovering over his shoulder looking over his designs to double check them. No w, Reki finds himself miscalculating even the easiest of measurements. Slamming the hammer into the nail, he tries to focus on the job at hand. Everyone else seems to have moved on, so why shouldn’t he? 

“ _ I wanted to be an actor once too.” _

_ Reki looks up at Yumiko, who sits thoughtfully at the edge of the stage. His feet dangle in the air as he leans back on his elbows. His dark hair falls away from his face  _ _ revealing _ _ a ruggish boyish charm t _ _ hat is refreshing amongst the _ _ rougher crowd.  _

_ “If it wasn’t for my health, I think I would have been able too.” He speaks, earnestly. “Giving up acting was the hardest decision I ever made.”  _

_ His eyes are distant neither looking nor staring at anything particularly in the theatre. Reki observes him from where he is, pausing in his designs to  _ _ roughly sketch the man before him. It’s nothing special, but Reki likes to dabble in drawing from time to time. It helps when he’s building something to see it on paper first.  _

_ “I think you can do it.”  _

_ The words are soft, but loud enough for only Reki to hear. A private praise of approval. A silent declaration of love. It is the words he so desperately needed to hear. The words that ultimately led to his demise.  _

_ I think you can do it. _

_ Yumiko, I couldn’t do it. I still can’t. I doubt I ever will be able to. _

_ Talent. Time. Skill. _

_ No matter how hard I try, I will never be one of Elites. _

___________________________________________________________________________

“As much as we appreciate your help,” Saki says in a pitched voice, “ The girls, sometimes do better without the extra eyes on them.”

“I understand,” Reki comments as the younger singers' giggle from behind him. “Shall I come back later to look over added materials?”

“Yes, give me two hours,” he nods, smiling before turning his attention back to rehearsal.

Reki waste no time as his feet echo through the hallway. Miya had spoken to him earlier as he had been requested to visit their mutual friend. Standing at the top of a very specific stairway, he practically leaps over the stairs at a hurried pace.  When he reaches the first door, he ducks under a  low-lying ridge in the ceiling, before entering and continuing  to walk straight. With no matches on him and his sense of direction as his only intuition, the walk only grows longer. 

Reki fears he’s missed his turn again as he bounds another corner only to hit a meal door.  Rubbing his face , he can see light escaping from under the door. Adjusting his shirt and attempting to  dust himself off, Reki stands up straighter an d opens the door. 

Once inside, Reki finds the man, not at his piano, but lounging on the small cot off to the right looking up at papers. Mask firmly in place and hair  in disarray, Snow anticipated his arrival , though the man never looks over from his current activity. 

Reki laughs, “Long time no see,”

“Hm,” Snow remarks. The one -syllable rumble that comes from the back of his throat equates to an entire sentence itself. “Re ki.”

“How’s the first act?”

Snow cracks a smile displaying perfect teeth as he looks over, “It’s genius if I do say so myself.”

He swings his long legs over the bed and gets up in one fluid motion before rushing over to the piano. He places the paper down on the stand.

“And the libretto?”

“Stunning, if not perfect.”

“And you?”

“Mentally  exasperated ,” Snow exclaims, with a flare of an overdramatic tone.

“So, should I come back to hear it later?” Reki inquires. He’s about to turn a round, when a piano key is struck. 

“I never said I was too tired to play, Reki.” He states as his gaze directs to the small stool on the opposite side of the piano.

Reki removes his coat, draping it on the small wooden table in the center of the room before taking a seat. He watches a tongue dart between pale lips to wet them . Reki folds his hands resting them against the cool, obsidian surface. The smile on his face couldn’t grow any wider.

Snow lifts his hands into the air, bringing them down upon the keys creating a crass sound. His eyes close and with arched fingers, he begins to play.

__________________________________________________________________________

“Those bruises,” Snow points an accusatory finger at him, “they don’t seem to be fading.”

It is an earnest observation, but Reki feels no more comfortable speaking of the matter. In truth, he hasn’t slept since the night of Yumiko’s death. His dreams are  diffused with nightmares of  Adam choking him as he watches his friend fall into  an endless void . He is plagued during the day with voices whispering in his ear of how he is nothing. He  was not  adequate . He couldn’t even save his own friend. He is haunted by shadows and plagued with guilt. 

Reki just shrugged off the comment.

“I am a slow healer, but regarding  what you said,  isn’t the idea a bit abstruse in terms of  schematics? ” Reki says with a frown.

“In hindsight,  this is merely a taste of the whole piece. Once complet ed will it make sense; no one has ventured to do something like this so I must take responsibility for my decision to act upon such an idea. ”

Caught be tween  confusion and  awe, Rek i  rep lies, “ Might  I ask, what exactly  do you intend to  do?”

“Ah , rem ember that  poem you recited to  me  from  a fortnight ago ? I wa nt to  make it  a play. It sh all be  deemed appropriate  considering it is a tragedy. ”

“ Yes, a  tragedy indeed , but I don ’t understand how you  can rewrite  it . The wh ole  point of the  poem was  unre quited love.”

“Who ’s to say the f ae wom an didn’t love the  knight?  His d uty as a civil servant to his  country. A love affair between two species locked in a thousand-year battle of will and belief. A naive awareness that  love isn’t enough to keep two people together. A man  is torn between devotion and obligation.”

“And  so, then what? The woman is torn between nature and the man’s world. How she fits into play? Who’s to say she didn’t leave because she wanted something from him- he might have spared her a torturous fate had he not fall in  love.”

“You believe his love  plagues her?”

“I believe anyone who breaks a heart  mu st have some remedy of remorse,  don’t you?”

“ No, I believe some people , even if unintentionally,  hurt others for their own  personal gain have a stolid  understanding that the world is greedy. Promises are br oken. People lie. People crave more than what they need.  The gluttonous cycle of eating or be eaten for the satisfaction of one’s ego.”

Reki  contemplates over this answer, rolling his shoulders. 

“I fear if you write this, people will miss the initial theme of the tragedy.”

“Unfortunately, they’ll have to bear in mind that this is not an opera, but the theatre. Themes can be  transgressed and transformed with the whim of an actor’s expression. I cannot control h ow it is  expressed . ”

Reki  grunts , “It’s not that I don’t agree with you about drawing out more of the background and mercifully explaining the love, but must you exaggerate the circumstances of the protagonist. Must his tragedy be pr ojected as failure?”

“Then you believe losing something you wanted most in life to be anything but failure? Whether circumstances allow it or not, it is the drive and passion that will influence the outcome of fate. In this case, maybe he had not fought hard enough to keep her or maybe, he lacked something sublime to tether her to him. Do you believe he perceives his loss as anything other than his own loss?”

Reki doesn’t speak. He stares at Snow who is preoccupied with writing down his thoughts. When the silence stretches too long, the masked man looks up, but he is seconds late as Reki slams the door behind him. He leans against the cool metal feeling his legs shake. His hand wraps itself around his neck as Adam leans in until his nose touches Reki. He smiles wickedly as his fingernails dig into the skin.

_ “Shall we dance again sometime? Will I have to teach you a _ _ n _ _ other _ _ lesson? Failure is not an option, but for someone like you, it is all you have left _ _ to cling to _ _.” _

“Reki!” 

The door opens all the way, and he falls back landing into the arms of Snow. Looking up at the masked man, h is screams sound animalistic as he fights to break away . As he struggle s , Snow’s grip tightens.

“Re ki! It’s me! Reki?”

Fear-stricken, his eyes widen as Adam looks down at him. Roses fall like blood drops around them before the hands let go and Reki falls into the abyss below. 

_____________________________________________________________

Stirring to wake, he winks b ack the heaviness of sleep from his eyes as he runs a hand over his face. Laying on his side , it takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to his surroundings.  The room is dark though he can make out the outline of a figure l ying  be side him . Face to face with the body, Reki begins to  sit up only to find an arm  wrapped around his waist holding him in place.

“Don’t move too much or you'll roll off the bed .” Snow speaks softly. His voice sounds  drained . He’s probably had the  alarmed by Reki’s sudden outburst . He inwardly cringes at the thought of how he acted. Cold fingers tr ail up and down his arm.

“Reki ,” Snow begins conversationally, “ I was thinking about the play as you rested ,” he speaks so eloquently as if nothing ever happened. It was somewhat relieving to Reki because he  doubt s he could  formulate words to justice the w ay acted  as he had. “I believe it can work. Love and  Duty. Loyal men watching as their Commander fall to a silent enemy that neither can be  slain nor buried: the immortal  creature who preys on all parts of the body.”

“ So, the hapless idiots who  encourage the knight  to  pursue the woman are the hopeless romantics in a love story. Don’t you think you’re taking away from the general idea entirely?”

“None sense. Every element is there, but it’s modified and modern . It’ll do nicely in this day and age.”

Reki hums with approval.  It was of chance that Snow  heard the poem. After Yum iko had recited to him, Reki grew enamored by the words. Standing upon the stage, he began to act out the scene as he thought it would be. The words were no louder than a whisper- hushed and low like telling a secret.  A clap echoed through the theatre, an embarrassing act between two strangers.  It wouldn’t be until later that he learned it was, not a phantom watching him, but this man instead.

“Thank you by the way , ” He mu mbled more to himself than  to  Snow. 

They don’t  converse with each other  any more than necessary. Words stop flowing between them  and before long they lay, enjoying the other’s presence. It is strange how such a brilliant man confines himself to just a lonely existence. Reki glances over to find that  no mask  rests on Snow’s face, though with the candles blown out, he  is  unable to make out  a face.  He  clenches his hands,  biting his lip. He itches to reach out and touch his face- Reki often wonders if the heat from this body is real or a figment of his imagination.  He can’t find it in himself to disrupt what they have, whatever it is that they have. It is a thought he has yet to really contemplate; a singular idea that has no real form or action attached to it.  Something unspoken passes between them: two bodies occupying the same shared space. For a moment, Reki  sieges all control of himself, allowing his mind and body to rest as he listens to the  soft breaths that tickle the side of his cheek. 

___________________________________________________________________________

His greatest pride comes from supporting the actors. Reki found that his carpentry skills are put to  beneficial use when building the sets. It is a tedious and time-consuming task that leaves a person little room for error. It is also rewarding. A s he works out of the  prop s studio near the back of the  theatre, he leaves the door open to allow the  fresh spring air to carry aware the wood shavings. Carving pieces by hand , Reki felt at ease even if it was under the false pretense that he was getting better.  Every day was hard for him. Some mornings were easier to wake up and get going while other mornings, he cursed silently to himself, shielding the bri ght sun from his eyes and wishing away every person so he could be alone. Instead, he found himself trudging earlier and earlier into work, no stopping to eat or talk to anyone. 

Conveniently for him, but unfortunate to the other  stagehands , Reki  does not need to be in direct contact with the actors allowing him to avoid the season’s flu. It happened every year as the winter ro lled into spring. The troupe doctor, Sun, is a force to be reckoned with. Cigarette hanging between thin lips and a glare, the man never takes no for an answer. It doesn’t help that his allies in this  fight are limited: Mrs. Yen, the exacting teacher, will make her actors practice until their lines are memorized in that setting. Her dancers will dance until they collapse. She believes  only in prayer and water. Both stubborn and head-strong, Dr. Sun rarely confronts her unless he is  inculcated that someone’s health is in serious jeopardy. 

Saki, being the acting stage manager, usually plays the mediator between the two. However, Reki has never known one of his crew members to  last long in severe pain- though not as long as the dancers who will endure for the fear of being put out the show. Whether it be good spiri ts or fever flushing their faces, it is hard to determine the ailment, but Reki  denigrates the idea of drinking on the job.  Most of his crew members respect this request, remaining sober eight hours out of their day.

With the younger make-up artists held up in bed, Ms. Lia, a beautiful woman with long black hair, takes on the role alone. No one is quite sure how, least of all, Ms. Lia as she is only a hair stylist. 

“This is what I get for opening my big mouth,” she teases, trying to explain to Reki the situation. “Since we all share one room, I know how to work with make-up a  bit, nothing like Summer, but enough to make it work. Who knew I would be taking over though?”

“You do know what you’re doing, right?” Reki reminds her, looking up from his designs.

“ Yes,” She squeaks, “but mostly I’m following magazines and praying it works out.”

“If you talk to some of the actors, they may be able to work the preliminaries- work on the less complicated stuff while you do the technical.”

“Absolutely not,” Ms. Lia insists, “I f I do that, it’ll only cause more trouble and we don’t need Tadashi on our cases. We’ve got enough to worry about as is.”

“So?”

She turns away indignantly as she crosses her arms. 

“You know how things are here. Tempers fly and stress only adds to the mix. It’s bad enough we got the Elites breathing down our next, but since Yumiko’s death, debt collectors been coming by. He  had  b ills after his  hospitalization. We all wanted to help, but money divides. We got some spirited ones. Spiteful. A lot of ‘em working off their own debts to the Ainosuke family. It doesn’t help of course that the collectors don’t take dead for an answer. He had family.”

“Hm, so someone is what? Acting out?” Reki inquires.

“How do I-” Ms. Lia  looked him dead in the eyes as she collects her thoughts. “Lass, we got ourselves a thief amongst us. I  ain’t one to pick fights or point fingers, but stuff been going missing.”

“Have you spoken to Saki?”

“Ha, and then what? He will tell Tadashi and we all know that’ll leave a few of us out of work. Accusations will fly and pointing fingers only get ya so far before feelings get hurt. ”

Reki nods in agreement. He wasn’t the only one reeling over the death. They had a few of the stagehands distraught over the news, drinking and raging about the unfairness of life. A few men going so far to blame Ainosuke for his death as Yum iko was struggling to make collection deadlines. Reki might even be a likely suspect  if anyone took the time to look at how closely he and  Yumiko  had been.

“Does anyone else peak your concern? Anyone who might be desperate enough for revenge ?”

“No,” she replies immediately, “Anyone helping out would be doing it for a  dead man's sake.  Ain’t no use dragging down others with the same intention.”

Her garrulous attitude towards the situation allowed Reki to understand why Ms. Lia was put in charge. 

“So, we have no suspects?”

“Unless ya phantom fancies  diamonds ,” she explains, “it’s out of season for now, but often in winter we have few uses for ‘em- three  hair clips are missing .”

“Only Leads and Elites have personal wardro bes in their private rooms.”

“Yeah, I figured. The  hair clips were missing as I began looking through our inventory.  Being some of our finer pieces, them being gone is concerning amongst the other items that are missing.”

“What else?”

“Thankfully, no jewelry. Mayuri keeps those locked up in a safe. Oh, some satin and  fur , but none of the dresses or costumes.”

“I mean, you’re going to have to report this .”

“ Ha, and then what? We finally got a good crew here. I’d hate to wreck that because of some bad housekeeping.”

“Then that’s for management to decide. Whether items were stolen or misplaced, it won’t matter until they come and bring order back to the  underlying chaos.”

“Unless it’s just lost.”

“Sure,” Reki acknowledges.

Ms. Lia leans places her head on his shoulder, wrapping her arms around herself. The sweat from her forehea d dampens his shirt as he pencils in some extra details. 

“By any chance maybe we blame the ghost?” She supplies.

“The  right-wing staircase leading from the dressing room broke this morning,” Reki  admitted, “two people tripped on the whole in one of the stairs taking a bad fall. I doubt there’s any blame lef t for him to carry.”

“Busy lass then.”

“Busy indeed.”

A few minutes too long filled with resignation leaves Ms. Lia pulling a smile to her dimpled face and shaking her head as loose strands stick to her face. In this heat, her face is flushed wit h rosy cheeks and tired eyes. Nevertheless, she still finds a way to look dashing.

“I apologize for this,” she laughs, “ Always good to talk with ya, love.” She pecks his cheek.

“Make sure to talk to Saki and don’t overdo it, ok?”

“Ah always looking after us Reki. Such a saint you are.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

“You aren’t very attentive today.” Snow observes, his fingers never losing their place as he runs up and down scales.

The frown on his lips is dissatisfying as each key is struck, tuned, and struck again.

“You move about the theatre a  lot, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Then you would know if something strange was happening?”

“Possibly,” Snow ventured,  “It all depends on your definition of strange and what we’re looking for.”

“A thief.”

“What kind?”

“Huh?”

“A thief, but what kind of thief? People steal many things and that can lead to many variables,” Snow explains running through a C- scale.

“Someone is stealing from the designers,” Reki informs him, “some  hair clips , satins, fur- small, street valuable items. How would you identify them?”

“ I cannot help with that.”

Reki stares, shocked by the blank refusal.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not focused on the task at h and, Reki,” Snow states,  “If you are here to help, then please, by all means assist me, but I will not hear  any more of this. You are welcomed to leave. ” He presses another key, dee per this time. “Ah, I believe she is ready- Reki. Reki,  why are you packing up?”

Reki throws on his waist coat and rolls up his designs, sliding them into his back pocket. 

“As you stated ,” Reki reiterated, “I will be taking my  leave now. Hope it all works out for ya.”

Snow doesn’t blink for a moment, the incredulous design of his mask bringing out the strange color of his eyes- a mixture of  sea-foam green and a crisp winter blue : eyes that change color with his passive moods.

“Good day,” Reki waves a hand as he heads towards the door. Stopping short of opening it, he pulls out a match and strikes it, only to  feel a quick blow of air pass over the side of his face blowing it out. 

“Don’t,” Snow sounds as if he’s pleading, “I will look into it, but not at the moment. Our together is valuable.”

“People could lose their jobs because of this,” Reki reminds him harshly.

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing. From down here, you can’t see it, but up there, spring is here,” Reki reprimands him, “This isn’t a good time to be homeless especially  since most jobs have already secured workers for the tourist season.”

“Why do you care about strangers you barely know?”

“Because I oversee some of those strangers, who like me, need this job.” His tone brooks for no further argument.

Turning around, Snow has his wedged between the door and his chest. Gazing up, those apathetic eyes observe him and his stance. 

“You are ever the protector,” He smiles.

“You are ever the genius.” Reki counters.

“A trait shared by fools and geniuses' alike, though I am the latter.”

“Well, you should still try to help.”

“Should I?”

“Any decent man would.”

Snow chuckles, running a hand through his slicked back hair. Dark blue strands entwine with his fingers. 

“Very few men can consider themselves decent.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“I doubt it.”

“I like to think of myself as one.”

Snow places a finger under his chin, tilting his head up. Reki’s mouth dries as he parts his lips slightly.

“And what does that make me?”

Reki doesn’t reply. Copper eyes bore into crystalline ones.

“Ah,” he winks, “then we are in agreement.”

“I don’t think so.”

Snow’s thumb runs over his bottom lip before resting at the  corner of his mouth.

“You inculcate that a masked  man you found thriving in the quarters underground of a famous theatre who refuses to share his identity with you to actually be a decent man. You  disregard the benefit of doubt for the purpose of hope.”

“Uh yea, why is that an issue?”

“It is unheard of.” Snow says.

“Spoken like a true masked man in a basement.” Reki mused.

Snow’s thumb hazardously rests on the center of his lips. Reki doesn’t stir as the man continu es to speak casually.

“My mother would say who better expert than the expert themselves.”

Reki hums, fearing if he opens his mouth, he might accidentally touch the thumb with his tongue.

Snow leans down and smiles.

“Shall we pick back up with the war?”

Reki nods eagerly as those  cold fingers release him. Body warm, but skin covered in goosebumps, he takes a seat as Snow begins.

_________________________________________________________________________

Unfortunately, Ms. Lia finds Reki before he has time to discuss  with Snow about missing inventory. Two of the designers are fired after another fur goes missing causing Ms. Lia to smoke her guilt away. Fuming over the thefts which abruptly stop, there’s no guarantee to who the culprit really  was? With everyone on edge, suspicions fly between the troupe  wondering if the thief is still among them and if possible, are they just waiting to strike again?

Events drastically change when one of the instruments- a violin-is stolen. Half the stagehands are fired for mishan dling materials and the police investigate turning up with nothing. Once again, rumors float towards this being an act of the theatre ghost’s anger, though Reki is relieved he isn’t caught up in the theories. Slipping downstairs is harder than ever with everyone watching their backs, but Reki manages to do so without arousing any more attention. 

“People truly are desperate.” Snow states at their next meeting.

“It wasn’t them.” Reki vexes.

“I know.”

“You know... how?”

Snow shrugs his shoulder as if his intuitiveness is obvious to present company. 

“Please explain,” Reki  exasperates, “Miya probably mentioned them being fired, but how can you prove their innocence?”

“Neither women would have been able to skillfully carry out such a plan especially with the hours they work. Everyone’s schedules overlap decreasing the chance for theft. The women tend to walk in clusters toget her at night anyway.” Snow explains plainly. “It would be a much larger group effort, don’t you think?”

“Wait, does that mean you’ve gone upstairs to look around?” Reki swallows feeling anxious. Who knows what could have happened if someone spotted a masked phantom rummaging around near the ladies’  area? He feels guilty, yet oddly pleased.

“I did, indeed. It wasn’t difficult mind you. I am quite stealthy given the circumstances and was able to move around more freely at night.”

“And the workplace revealed more to you at night than the women themselves?” He questioned.

“Yes, it did.”

Venturing back to his further to an argument he can win, Reki points at him.

“It’s not safe to venture around at this time, especially dressed the way you are. The theatre ghost is all the rage, and you’ll make a spectacle if someone sees you.”

_ They’re scared, still are after Yum _ _ i _ _ ko. I am too, so please don’t let anyone catch you because of me.  _

Reki wants to say, but dutifully holds his tongue. Revealing too much would not help what is done. 

Snow nods thoughtfully, “Am I in danger Reki?”

“There is always an element of danger. Never let your guard down.” Reki says.

Snow smirks. It is a pleasant, if not strange expression on such a serious-masked person revealing more of his character than his hidden face will allow. 

“And yet you believe decent men are among you.”

“Yum i ko was.” Reki responds cautiously as Snow’s smirk falters . “I supposed that philosophical debate will have to wait until further notice . Just promise you’ll be careful.”

Snow’s  short-lived smirk turns into a lopsided grin before in fades into its casual  apathetic expression.

“For you, I only went up to look around. I do not intend to come to harm’s way. It would be tedious amongst anything else. I doubt I shall do it again as I am working on the next act and this sequence is rather cumbersome compared to the others: I’d rather put effort into that than play detective.”

“Ah,” Reki rubs the back of his neck. He can’t seem to find the words, but he asks anyway. “So, ah, yeah, you  leave ? I mean other than this one time, but for, I don’t know, any other reason? I’m sure M iya would be stricken dead if you showed up mid-performance.”

“Occasionally, I find myself needed to get some fresh air and a meal. A walk does wonders for the mind and springtime is lovely. The mask stays here though, only required f or working. I have seen Miya act though. He’s very passionate about me coming to shows.”

“Really?” Reki raises his eyebrows in surprise at this news. “In the audience?”

Snow chuckles, “Where else? I shall show you someday my favorite house seating,” he winks,  “as long as I finish this part on time.”

An obvious bribe to not interfere with anymore of his time, a treat that Reki cannot resist, so he nods, “I look forward to it.”

________________________________________________________________________

The warmth of spring  carries away any cold weather that strays; it leaves the theatre unbearably humid. If it weren’t for the fever running rampant, Reki might have had time to take off. Instead, he is called in almost  every day to either pick up a job that isn’t his or work on extra  tasks for the upcoming show. Saki  tries to keep him on his toes knowi ng fully that spare time leaves Reki alone with his racing thoughts.

Busy is an understatement. The only  benefit it  has is keeping Reki away from slipping into the basement. He catches himself every time he ventures a bit too far from his post heading in that general direction. Reki knows Snow will need extra time to work on his composition, though he selfishly  doesn’t want to care. The urge to escape is all too demanding making him stir-crazy. His professionalism loses its edge as the hours of the night wear on.

Whether it is a curse or blessing he didn’t slip away, Reki can’t decide until he sees the usher from the very first  show, Tama, running up to him.

“No emergency this time,” he assures Reki with a pale smile, “but you were requested to serve the heir again.”

Reki fights the undulate nature of emotions that behooves him. 

“Then I should get going.” He nods, adjusting his ties and slipping on some white gloves. 

The balcony seat is the same as he remembers. The gaslights are extinguished, but the light from the stage creates a  silhouetted  effect upon the five figures.  Four of the five  he can make out recognizing Joe and Cherry first. He begins his polite greetings.

“Ah, my boy, Cherry is feeling a bit faint.” Joe informs in a hushed voice.

“Yes, sir.” Reki responds respectfully.

Cherry begins to argue with him , and a fight ensues of verbal teasing that Reki remains away from. The heir, Ainosuke  soothes it over, the softness of his tone  hides the poison in his words. He snaps his fingers, directing a handsome man by the name of Tadashi to supply another chair for their newest guest . Feeling his stomach drop, Reki realizes that he’s being used to barter with and if Cherry needs anything for his anemia, Reki will be right here to fetch it.  Because he sits furthest away, Cherry won’t be bothered. Reki realizes he  won’t be able to leave- trapped is more like it.  Reki is ordered to sit on the far end of the box beside Ainosuke’s lover who sits furthest away from the heir who claims his position in the middle showing his dominance. The atmosphere is  harsher than it was weeks ago when he first met the other elites. Mr. Ha segawa no longer clings to Ainosuke, but the older man’s eyes seem to try and catch his gaze .

_ “You mean his Eve, right?” _

_ “Huh?” Reki responds as he adjusts the masking tape on Miya’s foot after another long dancing number. _

_ “ _ _ You mentioned that man from that night? The one who apologized.” Miya reminds him causing Reki to frown. “ _ _ Well, Adam chose Mr. Hasegawa for his talent _ _ , ” the young actor continues, “ _ _ Adam believes this man is worthy of his devotions and thus Eve was created. He’s crazy about the man _ _.” _

_ “Ainosuke seems fond of him too,” Reki mumbles to himself. _

_ Miya watches him silently, not saying anything. When Reki finishes wrapping his feet, he begins to carefully rub them and checks  _ _ once more for any missed injuries. Satisfied with  _ _ his work, _ _ Reki  _ _ helps _ _ Miya to his feet.  _

_ “I su _ _ spect _ _ Mr. Hasegawa is special in a way, but he doesn't seem  _ _ pleased by the attention _ _. He’s got this dead look in his eyes like he’s _ _ bored. From what I hear, he’s got a riveting voice and great  _ _ memory _ _.” _

_ Reki hums, half- listening. Miya doesn’t say anything further. _

_ “Reki, _ _ ”  _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “You’re a good person.” _

_ Reki smiles, patting him on the head before leaving the room. Miya lets out a sigh, looking down at his feet.  _

_ “Maybe, too good a person.” _ _ He says out of earshot of his friend.  _

Mr. Hasegawa doesn’t  pay mind to the rest of his party, neither to comment nor acknowledge them. Sitting tall with folded hands, his hair falls  neatly in his face resembling the straight lines of his jacket, not a strand out of place. The periwinkle blue is almost as striking as his snow-white skin giving him a pulchritude unlike any other person Reki has met . Mr. Langa Hasegaw a’s mannerism, however, was nothing short of  execrable. His eyes don’t leave the stage as the actor picks up the f irst line giving lead way to the tenor  follow pursuit in the pit orchestra. His mouth turns downward as if he’s just tasted something sour , and his pale blue eyes  peek from under long  eyelashes , over  at Reki’s face.

Reki  immediately sits straight up, forcing his eyes to look at the stage. The intensity of Mr. Hasegawa’s gaze felt smothering  against this cheek, as easily  comparable to someone talking behind your back. Reki keeps his eyes to himself and the show. Eventually, he somewhat relaxes  against the wooden seat he’s been  given, his wi ll power fading. The tenor’s piece ends abruptly as the actor walks off the stage. The crowd erupts into applause  becoming white-washed noise from where he sits.  Beyond Reki line of sight, he can hear distinct murmurs between  the heir and Tadashi.

Feeling rather brave, Reki slowly glances to Mr. Hasegawa, finding the man’s expressions is back to its default setting of aloofness.  Annoyed. Reki can’t say why he can read the man so obviously, but his emotions seem to seep into Reki’s space as if reaching out. 

“Do not say a word.” Mr. Hasegawa utters under his breath.

“I reckon I wasn’t going to,” Reki states matter-of-factly, feeling shell-shocked.

Mr. Hasegawa takes him in again- a quick up and down with the eyes, before he really observes Reki’s features. The hard line of Mr. Hasegawa’s mou th doesn’t curve, though it doesn’t completely remain straight.  The perplexity of this expression is no more revealing that that of a shower curtain drawn outlining the figure of a person. It leaves everything and nothing to imagination. 

Reki doesn’t say anything in return, and they both direct their gazes back to the show. The lingering temptation to stare mocks him. Reki would be lying if he said he wa sn’t a sucker for a pretty face, although this face was much more unusual. He could admit the man had an attractive bone structure that varied from  plain to attractive with every angle.

The night draws on as Reki is aroused from a light slumber by the eruption of clapping all around him. The whole party is on their feet paying their dues prompting him to jump quickly and clap. Beyond shame at  this point, lets out a sigh of relief when Joe and Cherry thank him for his time. Reki, in return, thanks them for the good seat. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Mr. Ainosuke crow ding Mr. Hasegawa as he places a firm hand on his shoulder before whispering something in his ear. Mr. Hasegawa’s expression doesn’t change as he rolls the ha nd of his shoulder .  The olde r man’s eyes catch Reki’s gaze , and they sharpen on him. Reki gulps before turning back to the light banter between Joe and Cherry. 

To escape the confines of the box, Reki escorts both Elites through the queue of the coat check and finds himself alone after that. Turni ng to head towards the stage, he finds that the heir and Mr. Hasegawa have followed closely behind him with Tadashi nowhere to be seen.

“Ah boy, where might I be able to find Mr. Furo at this time?” The heir inquires.

Reki, not being used to hearing Saki’s last name, is caught off guard for a moment before speaking up.

“Most likely his office, good sir,” Reki remembers, “however, at this time, he may be paying his respects to the talent in their dressing  rooms.”

“I see,” the heir nods. “Should you come across the man, tell him he’s expected to be in his office.”

“Yes sir.” Reki bows, biting his teeth at being treated like a common errand boy. He holds his tongue knowing he is in no place to speak o ut especially if he wants to keep his job.

To his surprise, Mr. Ainosuke takes his leave in the direction of the office of Saki, leaving, one, Mr. Hasegawa behind. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks for reading and definitely leave a comment if you like or drop a kudos.


	3. Act Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The talent, you said. I want to know whom you figured was talented out of that performance we just saw?” Mr. Hasegawa asks. Perhaps it’s his placid expression that shows seems almost confrontation, if not bordering on condescension. Perhaps it is simply is height that leaves Reki looking up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to get faster at updating but I've been so busy with classes and stuff. Since today was my day off, I thought I'd release act three today and probably strive for act four this week. In total might make this into a two-part series but we’ll see.  
> Thanks for reading 🙂

** Act Three: **

“You mentioned talent, to whom do you prefer to?”

“Excuse me?”

“The talent, you said. I want to know whom you figured was talented out of that performance we just saw ?” Mr. Hasegawa asks. Perhaps it’s his placid expression that shows seems almost confrontatio n , if not bordering on condescension . Perhaps it  is simply height that leaves Reki looking up to him. 

“When you spoke of the ‘talent’, surely who came to mind?”

Looking for an excuse to escape the trap of conversation, Reki feigns innocence.

“I suppose everyone. They worked very hard g iven the circumstances.”

“But even you had moments where you paid more attention to the stage. Surely, who  captivated you so?” Mr.  Hase gawa persist s. His hands gesture towards the general direction of the stage while his coat (draped casually over his left arm sways  with sudden movement). “I assure you would not give the heir such implicit directions, now, would you?”

“No, sir, I wouldn’t.”

The obtuseness of  Reki’s answer  seems to leave  him unsati sfied as he continues to make conversation.

“Then,” Mr. Hasegawa insists, “to whom do you refer to as talent?”

Reki answers clearly: “Whoever Saki feels as though deserves their due respect.”

“Whom,” he corrects, “Whomever.”

“Yes, whomever.” Reki acknowledges.  After that, they fall into  some sort of affinity. Hasegawa has a just understanding of the theatre’s current actors, and in response to Reki’s own knowledge,  listens intently to what the other man has to say \- Reki educates him on  certain techniques used on tonight’s show.  Without speculation, Reki begins describing the faults of character rather than technique, finding  issues with casting. Most of his thoughts are shared amongst the actors and sta gehands. Much of what Hasegawa comments is flirted with  brazenness causing Reki to laugh when that flirtation borders  too far into rudeness.

Latterly, Reki realizes their conversations have delayed his requests to summon Saki according to the heir’s request. He excuses himself profusely in an attempt to go his separate ways . It seems Mr. Hasegawa is n’t as dense as he comes off and before long, he is tailing along. As Reki makes his rounds, checking on the stage crew or running a few errands for singers,  the process goes by faster under Hasegawa’s watchful eye. Their only delay is when they run into Miya.

“Langa!” He smi rks , a co mplacent exclamation.

“Ah, Miya!” Mr. Hasegawa  grins . The pair lock hands instantly in a n energetic display of pleasantries (in the form of a very eager handshake). He bends down and pats the top of his head while Miya puts on an innocent act. “It’s been too long.” He tells him. 

Miya laughs, covering his mouth, absolutely  adoring the attention. Reki shakes his head amused. 

“It’s always a pleasure to see a familiar face now and then.” Miya says, raising a  low laugh out of Mr. Hasegawa. Miya glances over,  belatedly noticing Reki standing behind them and looks between the  two with  obvious confusion.

“ Shindo sent Reki to find Mr. Furo,” Mr. Hasegawa informs, “So, I followed along to look around.”

“Saki should be in his office by now,” Miya shrugs, “At least, I think so.”

“Wonderful,” Mr. Hasegawa looks over his shoulder at Reki, “Looks like you’re relieved of duty Carpenter.”

“From that duty, yes sir,” Reki nods in agreement, “I appreciated the company.”

“Anytime .” He says coolly. Mr. Hasegawa holds out his hand resembling their first disastrous meeting. This time, Reki accepts it seeing the warmth from the grip travel to the man’s eyes before they part ways. 

Reki continues to make his rounds. The process of taking down the set and cleaning is ever so time-consuming tonight. The weakness of illness has set in motion taking its grievances out on the actors and  singers alike. Though reluctant to, Reki seeks out Miya to wrap his feet and massage his calves. He waits some time to make sure that Mr. Hasegawa has left.  Referring to him with honorifics, Miya confirms that the man is long gone. 

After that, Reki finds himself back at the lobby only to spot Mr. Haseg awa  walking, arms stiffly  at his side as Mr. Ainosuke leads  him  towards the door : the older man’s hand rests on the small of the younger man’s back. Tadashi follows closely behind them. They don’t notice him as leave, but he observes the bored expression Mr. Haseg awa paints onto his face. Whether he notices Reki or not, he doesn’t  catch his gaze. Reki pretends to ignore them, and even if he didn’t, it certainly doesn’t  upset him.

_____________________________________

“Ah, you’ve returned.” Snow vents.

Reki sets another  drawing book down, enamored by the other man’s current state.

“What happened to your hair?”

Long legs akimbo as he rests his chin on his open palm and cocks his head, Snow’s eyes turn to slits. 

“What?”

Gesturing to his  hair, which is held back by a headband, Reki attempts to convey the loose strands of straight hair that fall across his forehead. Though Snow’s hair is forever restrained by the confines of gel and slicked back to perfection, today it has escaped, falling at limb into (what Reki can imagine is its natural state). The loos e blue piles fall over his mask, creating the illusion of smooth porcelain merging into flesh.

Snow sighs, leaning back into his chair. Lips thin and chin freshly shaven, Reki wonders what he would look like with a little stubble.

Reki crosses his arm, “What’ s wrong?”

“Everything.”

“Everything?”

“Everything.”

“Aw, poor you,” Reki mocks, “How awful.”

“Don’t tease me.”

Reki slides his stool out from under the table and drags it across the room, setting it by the piano. He sits across from Snow. 

“At this point, it’s funnier than  _ not  _ teasing you.”

“Some help you are.” With the unreliability of candlelight, Reki can almost hear the eye roll in his tone. The mask impedes his ability to truly make out any of his distinguishing features. He wants to believe the man’s eyes are blue though he is never truly certain. 

“ Problems composing?”

“What else would be bothering me?” Snow counters.

“Your piano keys could break .” Reki answers back.

Snow blinks rapidly. “Do not say that,” his voice flat and toneless, “I’d rather  break a foot than that.”

“What a terrible thing to me.”

“Truth is often just so.”

Reki thinks for a moment. “It’s the libretto, yeah?”

“Clever, but why is that?”

“You’re very melodramatic when it comes to dialogue,” Reki surmises. It’s funny because the man before him is often more aloof than not. He has very few emotions yet can get so wrapped up in writing them that he can’t focus.  “Last time you told me to stay away, you were working on this part.”

“ Yes indeed.”

“What’s the issue this time?”

Snow lets out an  exasperated sigh. “ I can’t seem to quite grasp writing romance without it being not romantic.”

Reki laughs at his innocence. “Frankly, I saw this coming.”

“Were you ever in love?”

“Well,” Reki taps his chin. “I’ve had a few letters sent my way and a couple of short-term flings, but that’s hardly what you need.”

“I see,” Snow says, shifting from a careless sprawl to attentive lounging. “You’re quite the  rascal.”

“Not anymore,” Reki states, not without a hint of embarrassment.

“So then, falling in love reformed you?”

Reki chuckles. “Nah.” He laughs at this. “Not at all.”

“Then what?”

“I got hurt.” Reki taps his right shoulder with  left hand. “There.” He points to his wrist. “And here too.”

“Your priorities changed.”

“More like passions, but yes.”

“What was the difference?” Snow prompts. “Pleasure to necessity?”

“I guess. I was a mess. It didn’t heal fast enough. I couldn’t really focus on anything after that. I fell behind while others moved further. I think that was the worst feeling: getting left behind. Falling.”

“And yet you’re not the sort of man to settle for anyone. It wasn’t just need, it was sentiment, then.”

“Sentiment, yes.” Reki agrees.

Snow leans forward, tilting his head, hands folded.

“I don’t have much more to say honestly.”

“You do,” Snow counters. “Something triggered your views on love. What was it?”

Reki sits back and shakes his head. Snow’s agitation distracts him, but the other man calms when he realizes what he’s doing. He attempts to relax, at least, becoming more soothing than irksome. 

“I planned to be an actor,” Reki starts, given time. “Before I was... injured, I was frankly better than I am now. Never tall, but strong. I left home early with  hopes to study under some rising prodigies and even made it as far to audience with a few Elites. I left home a hopeful actor and returned a broken carpenter. The fever I had was bad. It comes back, sometimes. More frequent when I suffer from a panic episo de.”

“What caused the accident?”

Reki’s expression must show as Snow’s lip turn into a half- frown . 

“I fell off the stage.” Reki begins, “I foolishly challenged the wrong person and ended up having my reputation denigrated overnight. Debts from hospitalization added up and I put my hands to good use .”

Snow looks at him oddly but  let's Reki talk uninterrupted.

“I was alone. I still feel it. Everyone around me is beyond words. I supposed love for me equates to being good enough for each other: equal. I suppo sed that’s why I fell so easily for...”  _ Yumiko. _

“What else is there?”

“There was a woman,” Reki lies. “I suppose I could tell you why we worked, but it wasn’t anything I really dwelled on. Neither of us thought it out to be honest.”

“Then let’s start there.”

“Sure. Well, I was either functional or pathetic. Self-doubting and hating myself. She never coddled me and I’m glad because I would have ended it there. The shame of being pitied is worse than craving pity itself. She never really took care of me especially when the episodes happened. I hid as best I could, and she did the same. We were both broken...” he trails off with a grimace.

“He respected your pride.”

“More easily than breathing,” Reki pauses, shoulders sagging. “I never said he.”

“You didn’t have too. For the sake of time’s sake, I figured we may as well be honest.”

“Yumiko respected my pride, yes,” Reki agrees. “And I was getting better. At the beginning I feared we’d both break.”

“I’ve seen how you get when you’re upset. Your temperament is fiery, Reki, and it directs outward. Unless he provoked it inward.”

“I would never raise a hand to a partner. I never hit him.”

“Hence my  indifference . What did you mean?”

“The pressure. Probably that. It’s not unnatural to see two men, but it’s not fully accepted.”

“Were you two exclusive?”

Reki grins. “I can’t say for sure. He was exclusively available to me , but mutually attentive of others. He--”

“Hold that thought,” Snow holds up a hand to stop him from saying anything further. He reaches for his pen and some paper. “I have to write that down.”

“Excuse me?”

“Exclusively available, but mutually attentive. That is an interesting way of describing a relationship.” The ink takes a  moment , as does finding a clean surface to write upon.

“Is this some short  of biography?” Reki wonders.

“You will find no similarities within this resembling yourself.” Snow assures him.

“Hm, there is bound to be a thing or two.”

The other man simply flashes a toothy smile. “Continue.”

“I’ve decided that’s not a good saying I should use to describe what we were.”

“Vexing me, eh?”

“Absolutely.” Reki says. “ But Yumiko never was the same. When nothing was going right, I worried about him. He had no passion in life. He couldn’t stand the sigh t of a stage, much less be on one. It scared him so. When we first met, he was warm and comforting, but he had a particular impression of being easily swayed like a tree in the wind .

“ _ However _ ,” he continues, “he was a tree. He would stand tall, branches out and protective taking the wind in full forc e, severing the harshness of a blow.”

“Wow,” Snow writes this all down. “Reki, you ’re quite the poet. I had no idea you had such a romantic view of life . Especially  about older forms of literature. Quite riveting.” He urges Reki to tell him  more as the balance of confidences tips unevenly so.

“Answer me this,” Reki pries, changing the subject. “You’re writing a  tragedy, you live under the theatre  in a musty basement where I work, and it’s enti rely possible I will someday hear this  production performed and learn your real name. You’re taking inspiration from me now. If the plot weren’t enough, I’d recognize that.”

“Not in English,” Snow replies evenly.

“Well, possibly not in English. But I know the themes and the plot. You’ve made it so the story is told in the past tense. The knight doesn’t talk of his story until the second ac t. There’s nothing quite like it.”

“False. There is past tense present in the first act. The  actor of the knight is telling the story to a traveling priest. It is not entir ely needed to have the knight present until the middle of the act.”

“You mean to give context?”

“This is a tragedy. There has to be some build up and story setting.”

“But how will you introduce the plot if it's told from multiple perspectives.”

“By breaking up act one and slowly weaving the interactions.  No need to rush the story.”

“It sounds brilliant. I've studied quite a few  performances, but this will surely test the skills of an actor- switching so rashly between main characters and introducing side stories all at once.”

“It is not unheard of, but I do hope the lead will enjoy it.”

“So, then I shall finally know who you are?” Reki leans forward. 

“At that time, possibly. My contract will have subsided, and my identity won’t be a secret anymore,” Snow adds, “Provided all goes accordingly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Miya tells me the thefts have picked up again. If it is found that a masked man is living down here during the times of these thefts, blame shall fall upon said man. Quite juvenile. If that mane is  linked to anyone in the theatre above, its casts a stain of guilt upon management.

“Assuming you are guilty.” Reki argues.

“Tell me, Reki, when the designers were fired, were they guilty?”

“No.”

“But they were still fired.”

“Yes.”

“Because they likely fit the description of the thief. It was  reasonable to assume so. ”

“And if the thief came forward?” Reki asks.

“The designers wouldn’t be called back. Even if they were innocent, they didn’t stop the thief.”

“If all this stopped, and there was no blame,” Reki’s eyes beg with curiosity, “What then?”

Snow mutters under his breath.

“Sorry?” Reki prompts.

“I would still be under contract not to reveal myself. I’m already breaking rules, Reki.”

“And you can’t work anywhere else?”

“Nowhere else suits me better, and I will hardly give this up to satisfy your wants.”

Reki shakes his head. “I didn’t mean to press. I'm simply saying it’s inevitable.”

“If the occasion arises, in a future time and different location, I will consider reintroducing myself.”

“Really!”

“Possibly in the far future. It still bothers you though.”

“You say I make a sour face and avoid your questions when you ask them but imagine how I feel opening myself up to a man I don’t really know. You'd be dying if you were me.”

“How fortunate that our roles are not reversed then," Snow says in an arid tone.

Reki crosses his arms.

Snow waits.

Reki waits longer.

“Is this too intimate?” Snow asks.

“Not with a friend.” Reki nods.

“And me? A man who won’t share his name. Am I a stranger?”

Reki bites his bottom lip.

“Reki?”

“Stranger isn’t a good word to use.”

“But not a friend.”

“A strange sort of friend.” Reki supplies. “The like of which I hope becomes more of a familiar friend.”

The severity of Snow’s apathetic expression seems to soften around his eyes and the corners of his frown. 

“Then shall we get back to it?”   
“You can play for me what you have to far and I'll try to see if it sounds off.”

“I know where it sounds off.”

“Then you’ll enjoy having someone agree with you.”

Snow grins something foolish for such a straight face. His expression soon vanishes leaving Reki with an abstract view of what could be a handsome man. 

“Very well.”

He goes to sit at his piano. Reki leans on the top of it, stretching his arms out to lay his head upon them.

“It is still in progress and nowhere near the final presentation.” Snow heeds. “I haven’t been able to work on it to a satisfactory degree.”

“Ok.” Reki says.

“It isn’t good.”

“Snow,” Reki insists, “It will just fine. I know it will be because you did it.”

Snow shakes his head. “But it’s not there yet.”

“Then let me help,” Reki smiles, “That’s why I’m here.”

“Yes,” he mumbles, “I assure you-”

“Just play.” Reki laughs. “Stop stalling and let me hear it. I was the one who pushed the idea of romance onto you, so if it goes wrong, put the blame on me.”

After a pause, Snow simply nods. His hesitant eyes meet Reki’s and then shyly turn back to his work.

“Absolutely not,” Reki urges, “I refuse to give up and we can do this, alright?”

Cheek flattened against the desk, arms sagged towards the ground, Snow groans something awful. The  pitiful rumbles echo off the walls and high ceiling. Limp, his shoulders droop, and his eyes remain closed .

Reki grunts, comes around the other side, places his arms into the slits of Snow’s  underarms and hoists the man up.  This causes the chair to dip back dangerously low,  startling the  masked man who jumps to his feet, shouting. Reki doesn’t let go as he drags Snow to the center of the room, his chest pressing into the  taller man’s back before he spins S now around.  The masked man doesn’t protest as they both come face to face with only the shimmering candlelight as a witness to their antics.

“You are being crazy,” Reki starts, “You can’t rewrite it all. I’ve asked other actors and its normal for this to happen. Let it run its course.”

“It would burn so nicely.” Snow pouts.

Reki places his hands on his hips. “Stop it.”

“But it’s so ,” he gags, “and to think  _ I  _ wrote this.”

Snow sulks at him, wrapping long arms around Reki’s waist and hi s face falls into the  wild, red locks that point at every angle on top of the shorter man’s head. Reki feels his face  redden at the sudden contact.  Ashen skin blends into the  crème-colored shirt he’s wearing as he  realizes Snow  twists the fabric around his fingers.  Reki blames the draftiness of the tunnel for the chill that runs down his  spine.

“Tell me the story.” He coughs, trying to control his breathing .  He hopes Snow can’t hear his racing heart.

“You’ve heard it before.”

“Tell me again.”

Snow’s fingers remain tangled in the loose fabric at the back of his shirt.

“Act One,” Reki supplies.

“A wandering traveler  (a priest) returns home to find a broken man leaning  against a tree,” Snow recites dully. “The man is still wearing  armour though it is aged and worn. He  stops to provide the man with food and the knight  indulges him with a tale. All the while, a war is still brewing upon the horizon. End of Act one.”

“Excellent. Act Two.”

“More talk of the fairies and mother nature taking revenge as the priest travels into town only to see more knights gathering supplies. He overhears them mention a lowly knight who was once revered by all but fell to the curse of a  f ae  woman who  enthralled him with love . Once again, the  priest travels back to find the knight has not moved, and the knight again speaks to him, this time reciting the second verse of the poem. End of Act Two.”

“Act Three.”

“I didn’t finish Act Two.”

“Just keep going.”

“ Love.”

“What about love?”

“The knight and the fae meet up many nights,” Snow explains, rubbing his cheek against Reki’s hair. It he didn’t know  better; he’d say the man was smelling it. “Gr and gesture of  the fae woman to lead the poor man astray as his men try to persuade him to pursue a mysterious  woman, they believe to be a princess- she turns out to be more and war breaks out.”

“And act four.”

“They all die, except the knight.”

“Except the knight...” Reki snorts, “Wait, what?”

“You want to end it like that?”

“It is a tragedy.”

“Maybe so, but that’s a strange ending considering you're playing with two timelines here.”

“So?”

“So,” Reki says, “Edit the parts you need to change. Rewrite it. Stop sulking and fix it.”

“I’m not sulking.”

Reki’s mouth twitches. “Well, I am, so we’ll take a break,”

“I don’t want to.”

“You don’t want to work either,” Reki states with an annoyed edge in his voice. He takes up a lantern and lights it with one of the many candles  littered on the piano. “Blow those out. We’re going on an adventure.”

“And where to are we going?”

“Explore the tunnels,” Reki smiles over his shoulder. “Be my tour guide?”

Snow stands where Reki left him in the center of the room, unmoving. “You want to see the tunnels?”

“Mhm.” Reki blows out more candles. Eventually giving in to defeat, Snow joins him,  pursing thin lips making no effort to hide his sour  mood. Candle by candle, the small chamber fades into darkness until the sole flicker of  single lantern.

With that done, Reki holds the door open allowing Snow to lead the way. Nearly lost in the shadow, the mask and white  splash of Snow’s shirt are the only visible pieces of the man. Lantern in his right hand, Reki offers Snow his opposite elbow.

Head drooping yet again, Snow links his arm with Reki’s. “It is a very tiresome  walk, and the air quality is subpar.”

“How lovely, please don’t stop on my account.”

“Part of it smells of piss and  feces .”

“Reminds me of the time I went to visit my grandmother’s farm for the summer holidays.”

A small huff of breath beside his ear: not quite a laugh, but close.

They stroll. The tunnels, themselves, are barely wide enough for one person, let alone too.  Squeezing together, linked arms, and steady steps, Reki is stricken  at ho w lithe Snow truly is. He has a sturdy, strong build to his shoulders, but he’s got a feminine frame . Reki thinks this man shouldn't be defined by shape. At time s he’s a creature of great gesticulation contradicting his own clumsiness. H is subtle gestures never reveal his mood vexing Reki more so because he  never could figure out the other man’s thoughts.

“ Why did they build down here?” Reki asks.  His voice quizzically echoes,  interrupting the synced rhythm of their footsteps.

“Construction for an underground line ,” Sno w answers, “ They had plans to have another access to the theatre from the immediate outside. This wou ld have increased foot traffic- the owner wanted this of course.”

“ Quite literally,” Snow answers, “The constant flooding during the summer made it structural weak amongst other things.”

A corner.

The pair  attempt to turn  it. Its  narrowing width forces them to abandon  the casual  illusion of  continuing their walk. Rats scamper  in the shadows away from them as the light passes through the darkness.

“How far does it go?”

“Not very.  They lead further into  the flooded  area. Unless  you like the smell of rotten fish...”

“Uh, no.”

As they turn around, it is Snow’s turn to offer up his arm. Reki switches the lantern to his other hand before linking arms once more.

“This was nice. A  good change of pace.”

“Was that an intentional pun?” Snow asks.

“Huh?”

“It wasn’t.  Good.”

They return to  Snow’s chamber,  where the  man pulls out Reki’s sketch book from his messenger bag without permission or prompting. For his part,  Reki lights one of the smaller candles  in the corner  with the flame  from the lantern.

“You’ll  ruin your eyesight .” He warns, not for the first time.

When  Snow doesn’t  retort, Reki glances up from  his task to find  the  man staring at the far wall in a daze.

“Something the matter?”

“I  am in  need  of  more reference material . Your sketches are quite detailed and refined.” He says the last sentence more to himself than to Reki . 

The red-head inhales feeling a bit light on his feet at the compliment. It was no secret of his artistic abilities. His mother dutifully praised his  artwork whenever she got a chance to glance at it. Though he loved to sketch and build,  it was nothing compared to the feeling he got when he acted.  Reki clutches the front of his shirt feeling a numbness crawl its way over his chest.

“So...?”

Snow’s statuses position remains as so when he speaks. “Are  you  busy tonight?”

“I am on duty,” He responds slowly.

Snow slinks forward slowly. His feigning disinterest  is poorly shown through his body. While his head is faced away from Reki at a cocked  angle , his feet and  his  point  towards  Reki. While his hands  flip aimlessly through the  sketchbook , his focus is unquestionably  on Reki. 

“Yet, you’re not actually  working.”

“What are you up too?”

“ Nothing that will cause concern.”

“Then no. ”

“I haven't stated a proposal.” Snow protests

“If it takes  more of my-”

“You will be fine.”

“Uh,” Reki pinches the bridge of his nose mumbling a curse under his breath.

“Come to the Box 13 tonight.”

“And be sacked by the morning!”

Snow shakes his head.

“I assure you; you won’t be.”

“Nothing goods ever came from ‘I assure you.’” Reki  beseeches .

Snow lens forward, the angles of his body slumping.

“Kind of u seless to make a face when I can’t even see it.” Reki flatly points out.

“Come to Box 13,” Snow repeats, “ I’ll be there  regardless of if you come or not.” Temptation listens in his hushed, low voice. It’s a seductive offer; one Reki knows he can’t let go when he’s this close to the man.

Reki leans forward, hands folding together.

“Why do you have to see tonight’s performance so badly?”   
“I spoke of needing references: I need inspiration. There’s only so much I can do from imaging the sounds of an orchestra in my head.”

It wasn’t an unreasonable request. “And if you get caught? If someone were to see you-”

“I've been careful.”

Reki  battles with the urge to  slap him. 

“The entire building is tiptoeing on glass because of these thefts. The last thing we need is a masked man walking about.”   
“Ah, but who’s idea was it to take a walk in the first place?”

“Sneaking around,” Reki corrects himself. “Down here, it’s fine, but up there, it’s different entirely.”   
Snow leans in closer until Reki can make out his dark, beautifully curled eyelashes. His closeness preludes to something far more promiscuous. Such lewd thoughts seem to flash between them as Snow moves his head back a bit, aborting what he was about to do. It's a comfort to know that Reki isn’t the only one tempted by their impulses.   
Reki doesn’t waiver. 

Shaking his head, he pulls back.

“You will change your mind,” Snow says amused, “and when you do , come find me.”

“I think not. It’s a stupid idea.” Reki warns.

Snow w aves a dismissive hand in the air.

“Yet, it has worked so far. On numerous occasions, I remind you, but if you care so much, why not come and protect me?”

“I think not.” Reki rolls his eyes. “Some of us actually have to work. I’d like to keep my job.”   
“What of today?”

“I’m allowed lunch breaks.” Thankfully , his schedule is a bit more lenient than that of the actors, but not by much with projects seemingly piling up. Checking his watch, he sighs, “or I had a lunch break. Best be  leaving now.”

Snow pouts. “But we’ve made no progress.”   
“I’ll see you,” Reki bids him, stepping directly into his personal space to retrieve his sketchbook. “And refrain from doing anything dangerous.”

“I make no promises.”

“Snow,” he says warningly, “Don’t.”   
The man just smiles with sheer confidence before saying,

“See you tonight. ”

“No, you won’t.”

“It’s a date.”   
————————————————————-

Half-way through the first act, Reki ’s di latory decision  is cracking under  the pull of curiosity. He can’t deny the caustic flutter of anxiety he felt after hearing Snow say It’s a date. 

With attendance b eing slightly bigger than usual due to the oppressive heat outside, Reki finds the temperature to be no better inside the dark theatre. In fact, he can feel the hairs sticking to his skin. Dehydration is another factor that comes into play as the actors stand under heavy lights beaming down on them.  If anyone collapses, it’ll be from the heat; a liability that only the owner can take responsibility for .

Since there is nothing Reki can do regarding this information,  he tucks his sketchbook away and decides to take a walk. Restlessly, he wanders to a particular stairway. The curved hall stretches in both directions , doors set into the inner wall at regular intervals. The doo to Box 13 is no different than any others.  Towards the end of the first act, no one is moving about.  There’re no other ushers in sight.

The door handle is cool to the touch. It turns with easy and a slight click , but as it opens, the heightened noise from beyond breaks through the barrier. Reki slips in quickly, closing the door behind him. The box curtains haven’t been drawn, the thick burgundy cloth glowing from the chandelier above. Against that backdrop, Reki sees a slow shape. 

“Snow?” Reki whispers.

With a sharp motion, the figure gestured for him to come sit.

With quiet steps and searching hands, Reki  finds a chair. He edges between it and another, feeling the arms of the chairs and sits.

The other man shift s closer, his breath was soft and nearly cool in the stuffy box. 

“You’re late ,” Snow murmurs into his ear. His upper arm presses into Reki’s shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to be here ,” Reki responds.

“No one is coming to check ,” Snow promises. “Of course, if you can quietly sneak out . Suck out during a narration when the crowd is most indulged, and no one will think much of it.” Low and hushed,  his advice is  ornate. “We’ve got a few acts left so no need to rush.”

“I cannot stay for the entirety of the show.” That would be hours.

“No?”

“No. I was curious to see if you actually would show up.”

“And I am here ,” Snow mumbles. He turns his face toward the closed curtains. “You are free to leave whenever, Reki.”

Keeping a tight rein over his volume if not his temper, Reki asks, “Why did you invite me tonight then?”   
“Hm?” A distracted response.   
“Why did you need me tonight?”

“A date of course. Your presence is quite conducive to thought.” Snow replies casually.   
Outside, a duet ends, and the audience applauds. The buzz of human voices rises shortly after. The risk of speaking temporarily decreased.   
Reki considers leaving, considers prying in the meaning of the date. He decides on neither.   
Snow’s gaze is a solid pressure in the dark. As is his approval.

Reki waits, with  strained ears for anything remotely  like Snow’s tragedy, but his creation and tonight’s performance are juxtapositions in every criteri on.

He waits and he ponders. The music meanders through sorrow to brazen in a matter of minutes. Unwitting overexposure to the theatre has taught Reki more than enough about build-ups and subtleness.   
He waits and he wonders. The music meanders through melancholy before bursting into triumph. Unfortunately, after so many years of watching from afar, it has dulled his sense of patience. He can no longer sit through the stretches of performances. Except forSnow’s sessions upon the piano.The lecture of theatre seems alienating when compared to the conversations between a carpenter and a pianist. 

Reki leans  to the side and asks, “What are you listening for?”

Something pale and cool brushes across his nose: Snow’s mask as the man turns his head toward Reki’s question. They both hesitate to pull back. The longing stalemate lasts a short moment, but long enough for Reki to taste Snow’s breath. Under the curtain of darkness and lost in  instinct, Reki reaches his hand up to the man’s face. His fingers trail a sharp jaw line until they reach thin, moist lips. A sharp intake comes from Snow as  Reki angles his head ever so slightly. His lips brush up against the smooth  porcelain until he finds an opening and kisses the skin. 

“That’s my eyelid Reki.” 

Pulling back abruptly, he jumps from his seat covering his mouth with embarrassment. Nodding profusely and apologizing for his behavior, he stutters over the words he’s trying to say. Snow  stands up .

Firm warmth touches his shoulder. Incongruous chills flicker down his back, a prickling cascade of sensation.  In the dark, Reki wishes he could remove the mask and see his face. Something about the lack of identity seems scandalous pulling him further into  something that may leave him badly hurt- if not more broken than he already was. 

“Reki,” the taller man whispers into his ear. “Let us part tonight for I shall get nothing done with you distracting me.” Lips  nip at the tip of his ears scorching them in flames. “ Have a goodnight.”

Reki falls away from the man who is now taking his seat once again . He doesn’t groan at the stiffness in his neck or back, though he does come close. He offers  Snow  his hand, and  Snow  shakes it without standing up again .  Reki  creeps to the door, listens first, opens it gently, and makes a quick check before venturing fully outside. He closes the door behind him as quietly as he can. The last he sees of  Snow  that night is a silhouette in the dark, head bowed, hands steepled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment below your thoughts 🥴

**Author's Note:**

> Comment below your thoughts and heck, any scenes you really wanna see as the story develops.  
> Check out my tiktok:thatbackgroundcharact3r for some amazing sk8 infinity wallpapers and aesthetics (amongst other things).  
> Thank you for reading.


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